Gentlemanly Reminder
by blu-waffle
Summary: The year is 1678, it is the time of the infamous Highwaymen. One Miss Beatrix Clarke is to be married off to a prestigious gentleman, but first she needs some escorts to get her there safely..
1. Chapter 1

The roads around London were treacherous places. Lonely, shadowy routes covered by dark forests and ominous countryside.

Empty.

If you were to be caught out there no-one would come to your aid, no-one would hear your screams, no-one would.

This was the year of 1678. This was the time of the highwayman. This was the point at which one Beatrix Clarke, daughter of one of the wealthiest landowners outside of London, was to be married to Sir Henry Fielding; a high-ranking gentleman of the English society.

* * *

"But Papa-"

"No buts Beatrix, you are leaving and that is final." Her father's rough voice cut through the air and she sagged against one of the smooth, polished columns of her four-poster bed.

The handmaid tugged upon the corset strings once more and Beatrix gasped and clung to the wood as the tight material squeezed against her ribs and sucked the breath from her lungs.

"That's enough Alice. Thank you." Whispered Beatrix softly as she turned to smile kindly at the younger girl behind her who dipped her head and finished tying off the laces.

A heavy silk dress covered Beatrix's head for a few moments as Alice helped her into the expensive clothing and set about pushing and pulling it carefully and methodically to make sure it fell just right.

Beatrix took this time to look sadly around her room as it was to be her last view of it. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the smooth walls and she smiled to herself as she remembered all the times she had danced with them, wanting desperately to be a part of their game, to escape the world she was trapped in. Running and hand along the dark wooden column next to her, Beatrix sighed forlornly and felt her large blue eyes glazing as she reflected upon all the memories this room held for her. How she had hid under this bed when playing with her older brother in years past, how she had sobbed upon it when he had left, how she had screamed and tore at it when her mother had died…

"Miss, if you'd please." Alice murmured gently, her face smiling kindly as she led Beatrix over to the vanity table and began fixing her hair.

Beatrix sighed again and caught Alice watching her in the mirror so she smiled and shook her head.

"You'll come with me, won't you?" She asked quietly, her voice taking on an almost desperate quality and her eyes pleading with the girl behind her in the mirror.

"Of course Miss."

Beatrix relaxed ever so slightly at the gentle response and let her mind drift.

Alice, though she was 'a simple handmaid' as her father told her, was her closest and most trusted friend. She had arrived just after Beatrix's mother had died and when she was she was in danger of retreating into herself and becoming a sullen, morose child that her father feared she was to be.

She had skulked around this large house, watching the small golden child fetching plates and towels, washing the parquet floors, helping the other maids to make the beds. Beatrix had soon learnt her name was Alice and had memorised it and stored it away in her mind. The happy child, the small girl never without a soft smile on her face, intrigued Beatrix and she wondered how she could always be so cheerful; she was after all working for her.

Alice had caught her one day watching her from behind a pillar in the foyer, and had started talking to her. The inquisitive questions that had followed were so blatant in a way that only a child can ask them and Beatrix had, at first, resisted them. The great loss she was suffering was eating her away inside, she rarely talked to anyone and she was forever sullen and morose. But Alice had persisted and with time Beatrix had found trust within this new friend and had made Alice her new companion, and later her only handmaiden so that they could spend as much time as possible together.

Alice did not mind serving Beatrix, she was glad of the fact that she had such a kind mistress and in fact Beatrix treated her of more of a friend rather than maid. They were about the same age, only a few months separating them and Alice could still remember the birthday not so many years ago that Beatrix had snuck in the servants' chambers late at night and placed one of her mother's necklaces within Alice's small hand.

"This is your's now. It will symbolise our friendship. If ever something should happen to you, leave this necklace and I will know." Beatrix has whispered quickly in the darkness as she attached the simple amethyst pendant around the young girl's neck.

Alice had simply nodded, falling asleep as the other girl vanished into the darkness, thinking it but a dream until she had woken the next morning with the silver chain hanging comfortingly around her neck.

She still wore it to this very day; hidden under her clothes of course or else she would have it taken and would be punished severely. But it was still there, as was her friendship with her gentle mistress and soon they would be leaving for London.

"Beatrix, are you dressed child?" Came the booming voice of Ernest Clarke as he knocked against the large oak door leading to his daughter's bedchambers.

"Yes Papa." She sighed quietly and watched in the mirror as he entered and closed the door behind him.

"Ah, petal. You look charming." He told her heartily, clapping his hands together as he stood in the middle of her room.

Beatrix did not make to turn towards him but simply eyed him coldly in the mirror with an impassive stare. Alice was finishing pinning up her long, deep brown curls with small flowered clips and Beatrix waited patiently for her father to say something.

"Dearest, your carriage will be arriving soon. Are you packed?" He asked, his deep voice rolling around the room.

"Of course Papa. Alice has packed her things too." Beatrix replied quietly and patted Alice's hand on her shoulder as the blonde girl curtsied and scurried out of the room; leaving Beatrix and her father alone.

Beatrix swivelled on her vanity stool and sat staring at the man that was sending her away to London. He smiled warmly and opened his large arms.

"Come, let me see you child."

Beatrix stood and walked slowly towards him, careful of her movements in the heavy dress and aware of the appraising and proud eye he held her in. His ruddy cheeks glowed in the candlelight as he looked her over, and his overly large figure bounced slightly as he clapped his hands together once more.

"Exquisite, absolutely exquisite." He told her and Beatrix smiled slightly as he embraced her.

It was not that her father did not love her, no that was not the case at all. It was just that he was a wealthy man, a man who had built a passion for it and enjoyed the gifts his position in society brought. To marry his daughter to such a prestigious and worthy young gentleman was an achievement indeed. His position and wealth in society would increase due to his daughter's standing; whether his daughter was happy with the match or not.

"Come, cherub. Your carriage awaits." He told her gently, brushing aside her heavy drapes and peering out into the darkness at the sound of crunching gravel beneath wheel and horse hoof on the drive.

A cloak was deposited around her slim shoulders as she stood on the glowing galleried landing and she thanked the maid with a kind smile and embrace as she made to go towards the stairs. She was sure to miss this place with all of her heart; the house she had grown up in, in some many ways.

Her father was stood downstairs talking with some gentlemen, from the sound of it but the quiet chatter stopped as Beatrix appeared at the head of the stairs and started to make her way carefully down; forever mindful of the damn hefty dress she was in. She lifted her head a touch as she walked down the large staircase, to see who these other gentlemen were. Her heart sped up a beat when she saw the seven new men standing in a semi-circle formation and her father at the foot of the stairs. She failed to notice all of the men assembled take a breath as she began her descent.

"Ah Beatrix, there you are cherub." Her father announced proudly, holding out his hand to her as she stepped off the stairs.

She had never understood why he called her that: cherub. She looked nothing like an angel; Alice was much more angelic in comparison to her. Alice had the long golden hair, the bright blue eyes and the rosy cheeks of the angels in the paintings. Beatrix, on the other hand, had long, dark, thick waves, large deep blue almost purple eyes and she looked almost nymph-like, although she was still quite tall compared to other women.

"Beatrix, this is Arthur Castus and his men. They shall be escorting you to Sir Fielding's residence in London, my dear."

Beatrix's eyes shot up from where she had been staring at the marble floor and she blinked a few times as the man she presumed was Arthur, stepped in front of her.

"Miss Clarke it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Arthur Castus." He was soft-spoken, yet emanated authority and power as he bowed low and kissed her hand softly.

So it was true, these were Arthur Castus and his infamous horsemen. They were known throughout the land to protect the wealthy from any highwaymen as they made their way to whatever destination they were presented with. Beatrix paused and wrinkled her nose in confusion as she looked around at them. _To protect the wealthy from highwaymen…._

"I thank you Mr Castus. Pray tell me, are we to be travelling through Highwayman country?" Beatrix asked calmly, although inside her heart was beating ten to the dozen; she had heard the tales of the ruthless highwaymen that roamed the countryside outside London, robbing and killing with no remorse.

"Why yes, Lady. That is why we have come to escort you." Arthur answered gently, bowing his head to her.

Beatrix returned the gesture and stood uncomfortably as they waited for some signal to leave. All of the men could see she was hiding her fear well, and they praised her for it.

"Miss Clarke, your carriage awaits." Called one of the man-servants from the open doorway and Beatrix looked to her father stood next to her.

"Well, Papa." Beatrix murmured softly, and her father smiled warmly at her.

"Do not fear my child. These gentlemen will take good care of you, rest assured. Make me proud my dearest, you are about to marry one of the country's most respected young men." Her father told her with an enthusiastic voice and she couldn't help but smile as he embraced her tightly. "You look beautiful child. Just like your mother." He whispered as he hugged her fiercely, and Beatrix nodded as she kept any stray tears at bay.

"Goodbye Papa." She told him softly, and turned away. Away from everything she had ever known, everyone she had ever known and all of her memories and into the chill darkness of the September night.

Arthur presented her with his arm, and she took it with a shy smile and small curtsy.

And then she was gone.

* * *

_A/N: Well this is a new story that I just had to start as we were doing Highwaymen in History the other day and it gave me an idea lol. I don't think it's been done before and I thought it might make for an interesting story (although the plot will probably end up the same as others, -sigh-) lol. Tell me what you think about it, and rest assured there wil be much more 'Knight' interaction and thoughts in the next chapter. Thanks very much for reading and please don't hesitate to give me suggestions, tell me your opinion or flame me as I'll use them creatively lol. Thanks xx_


	2. Chapter 2

Alice was already waiting in the carriage when Arthur carefully helped Beatrix in, shutting the door behind her and leaving the two women alone with their thoughts.

The jerking and shuddering that signalled the movement of the carriage as the gravel rumbled under the wheels compelled Beatrix to turn around and gaze back at the glowing shadow that was her home as she peered through the back window. Her father's shadow stood proud and wide in the doorway, his hand raised in farewell and Beatrix pressed her hand to the cool glass as she stared back at him and silently said her goodbyes.

"Miss Beatrix, are you alright?" Alice's small voice cut into her memories and Beatrix turned to her with glistening eyes; thankful there was little light in the carriage.

"Alice, please call me Beatrix. You are my companion on this new venture, you are my friend." Urged Beatrix softly, reaching across and taking Alice's warm hand and holding onto it tightly. "I'm just a little frightened that's all."

Alice smiled at the young woman's sense of truth and she squeezed Beatrix's slender gloved hand tightly.

"It'll be alright M-Beatrix."

Beatrix nodded to herself and let go of Alice's hand as she leant back against the cool leather of the carriage and stared into the darkness that surrounded them.

Usually this land would be rolling green hills, marked with lush woodland and the odd farm. But now it was completely black. An oblivion of darkness that Beatrix could feel herself being pulled farther and farther into it the further she travelled from home.

* * *

The carriage trundled along through the darkness surrounded by seven horsemen. Jols, Arthur's loyal manservant drove the carriage, with Arthur and Lancelot riding in front, Galahad and Gawain either side of the coach and Bors and Dagonet bringing up the rear. Tristan had ridden ahead as soon as they had pulled out of the manor searching for any signs of danger.

Arthur's body swayed as his horse ambled along the dark path and Lancelot watched him quietly.

"So where exactly are we to be depositing Miss Clarke to?" Lancelot asked seriously to Arthur's moonlit profile after clearing his throat.

"Westminster." Arthur replied smoothly and turned his head to quirk an eyebrow at his most trusted accomplice. "Why?"

Lancelot sighed exasperatedly and gave his commander a withering look.

"Just working out how many days we'll be on the road." He answered grimly, waiting a beat before adding: "And how many highwaymen we'll be likely to encounter."

Arthur chuckled and rolled his eyes at the serious mood of the man riding next to him. His friend was an unusual character at the best of times; one moment he was mischievous, the next serious, other times soulful.

They had first met a few years ago in London, at a horse auction. They had been contending for a particular black stallion, each trying to up the stakes slightly more than the other until finally Arthur had won with a slight nod of his head to the haughty young man over the other side of the packed room. Arthur had sought him out after the auction had finished and they had both marvelled over the power and beauty of the horse; Arthur quickly learnt that the man had travelled great distances to come to England and had ridden such large and powerful horses since he was a boy.

"Join me in protecting those from the highwaymen and the horse shall be yours." Arthur had announced as they both stood watching the testy black stallion.

Lancelot's mouth had dropped open slightly at the sudden exclamation and he turned his head to look at the other man.

"Why would you give up such a great horse?" He asked slowly, eyeing up the slightly older man with suspicious brown eyes.

Arthur laughed and without turning had said:

"I can't fight them alone. You have proven your worth to me."

At first the proud young man had been resistant but eventually had given in and had introduced Arthur to a number of others who had travelled from their homeland of Sarmatia.

Arthur smiled as he watched Lancelot pat his horse's neck soothingly and whisper a few hushed words to it as they continued their riding.

"Obstinate bastard."

* * *

None of the horsemen had spoken to either of the two young women in the carriage since they left the manor and they had heard little sound filter out of it since they had left the safety of the gates about four hours beforehand.

Beatrix certainly had caught all of their attention, her entrance was simple and discreet and yet all of them had found their eyes drawn to her as she cautiously made her way down the large oak staircase; her dress swaying lazily and the gold embroidery catching the torchlight as she descended.

There was some air about her that they had never witnessed in a 'proper and prim' gentlewoman before, and just the way she moved spoke of her creative flair but cautious approach to all things new. And those enchanting deep blue, almost purple eyes were intoxicating when they looked at you; drawing you in and making you want to know more. Her hair had gleamed in so many different shades of brown as she stood with them in the flickering torchlight of the hall and her smile lit up her whole face. An angel indeed.

All of them were interrupted from their thoughts when a sharp shriek of laughter erupted from the carriage and was quickly muffled. Arthur and Lancelot turned back to look towards Gawain and Galahad who shrugged non-plussed. Each of them ducked their heads to look into the windows of the darkened carriage and smiled amusedly to see Alice with her hand over her mouth shaking with laughter and Beatrix lying across the leather seat muffling her laughter into her dress.

Gawain caught Galahad's eye through the other window and winked at the younger man with a wide smile as they watched the two women fighting to keep quiet.

Finally their laughter subsided and Beatrix raised herself back up to a sitting position and wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Oh Alice, you should not say such things!" She scolded laughingly, a broad smile lighting up her face and the golden-haired innocent girl across from her let out a small giggle.

"Well, it had to be said. And you can't say the thought hadn't crossed your mind too." Alice teased and Beatrix had to agree.

Her attention was caught by the two men watching them through the windows and instead of composing herself straight away or hiding from them, she beamed at both of them and shifted towards one of the windows and opened it to the cool night air.

"Can I help you Miss Clarke?" Galahad asked charmingly and Beatrix took a deep breath of the crisp air that drifted past her face as she leaned from the window; a blissful look coating her delicate features.

"Oh no, but thank you very much…" She trailed off as she had no idea of his name and the young man grinned before bowing in his saddle.

"I am Galahad, Miss."

"Thank you Galahad." Beatrix replied smilingly and looked over the young man as he turned back in his saddle.

He could see her studying him from the corner of his eye but he kept facing forward and let her to her thoughts.

Dark curls and waves, soft green eyes and a handsome face; so much like her brother Beatrix mused as her eyes swept over the young man with a scrutinizing gaze.

"How long shall it be until we stop?" She asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence and Galahad shouted up to Arthur who hung back and came up to ride beside Galahad.

"We should come across an inn soon Miss Clarke. I trust you are well?" The man she knew to be Arthur asked politely.

His soft smile and thoughtful green-grey eyes caused Beatrix to return a small smile and nod her head.

"Yes, thank you Mr Castus. Everything is more than swell."

He nodded curtly and rose his head swiftly as Tristan raced back down the darkened woodland path towards the carriage. He seemed like some phantom horseman as he rode through the darkness, only illuminated briefly by moonlight every few seconds in some ethereal light. The grim expression of the man and his panting breath alerted Beatrix to the fact that something was wrong and she looked anxiously towards Arthur.

"Is something wrong Mr Castus?" She asked fearfully and he turned back to face her after Tristan had given him his hushed report.

"Miss Clarke please shut the windows and draw the blinds in the carriage. We will protect you, do not worry." Arthur replied firmly and Beatrix nodded hastily as she slammed the window shut and tore down the blinds, plunging the carriage into darkness.

"Beatrix, what is wrong?" Alice whispered in alarm, sensing the panic radiating off her companion and the look of fear mixed with wonder on her face.

"Highwaymen." Beatrix whispered, tilting her head to look at Alice serenely as the first shot was fired.

"Protect the carriage!" Bellowed Arthur as a gang of about 15 masked men on horses plunged out of the shadowy forest and fired their pistols.

Lancelot instantly whipped out his flintlock pistol and fired at the nearest man, shooting him square in the chest and sending him flying backwards off his horse: dead. He ripped out his second pistol and shot another masked man who was pelting towards Arthur, the sound of splattering blood filling the air beneath of all the gunshots and yells. He quickly tugged the small bag of gunpowder out of his jacket and began reloading his gun; his eyes searching fiercely for any oncoming attackers in the near pitch-black darkness.

"Beatrix what will happen if they find us?" Alice whimpered suddenly as she clung to her friend as they huddled on the floor of the carriage, listening to the gunshots and screams of pain as the shadows flitted past the closed blinds. Alice let out another muffled shriek into Beatrix's chest as someone hit the side of the carriage with a hefty thud and Beatrix watched as the figure slid down the window; very obviously dead. They had both heard the stories of the ruthless highwaymen that roamed the countryside; preying on the wealthy and vulnerable, robbing, stealing…killing.

"They won't find us Alice."

"C'mon then ya bastard!" Roared Bors tauntingly as he finished reloading his gun with powder and took aim at one of the masked riders who was racing towards him; loaded pistol outstretched.

Both guns exploded with flashes of lights mixed with small plumes of smoke, and both riders heard the similar ear-splitting gunshots. The masked rider gasped and let out a choked gargle as the small lead ball embedded itself in his throat and sent him sprawling back across the horse saddle; his body limp and blood pouring from the wound. The bullet that was fired at Bors missed by mere millimetres, but that was more than enough for the large man and he let out a loud roar of victory.

Tristan was nearby firing quickly and effortlessly. He had reloaded his gun and shot before any of the would-be thieves had chance to aim; his black eyes gleaming with adrenaline from the shoot-out in the moonlight beneath his unruly braids.

"How many alive?" Arthur shouted as he looked around and found no-one left to fight.

Gawain and Galahad both shot their guns one last time, finding their target and Gawain wiped a hand across his sweating brow as he breathed heavily.

"None."

The captain nodded wearily and cast an appraising eye over the men left on horseback; silently thanking his God that they were all unharmed and alive.

The silence in the carriage was only interrupted by Alice's soft whimpers and sobs and Beatrix's heavy breathing. She could feel the alarm rising within her as she held Alice tighter within her arms and watched a tall shadow come alongside the carriage. The shadow stopped and for a moment Beatrix shut her eyes and waited for the loud blast of a gun to greet her, or the chilling words of "Stand and deliver."

"Miss Clarke? Are both of you alright?" Called Arthur and Beatrix sagged with sheer relief; thinking it had been one of the dastardly highwaymen.

"Yes Mr Castus. Thank you." Called back Beatrix with a relieved sigh, shushing Alice and stroking her hair as she rocked the sobbing girl backwards and forwards on the floor.

Moonlight poured in on the pair as Lancelot opened the carriage door and Beatrix moved her head up to look at him, her large deep blue eyes soft but scared at the same time.

"Is she alright?" He asked gently but with a note of urgency in his smooth voice, moving towards the door and bending to look at her.

Beatrix watched him quietly and nodded, bending her head to whisper something in Alice's ear which seemed to calm the girl somewhat. "She's just a little shocked. Of course we'd heard the stories of those dastardly men, but…the reality was a bit different." She smiled slightly in a crooked way as she finished talking and Lancelot smirked as he backed out of the carriage door; bowing his head which made some of his dark curls fall into his eyes.

"Twas your curly-haired, fetching saviour." Lancelot thought he heard Beatrix whisper to Alice as he shut the door, receiving a giggle from the sniffling blonde and earning a knowing smirk to the young man's lips.

They travelled a while longer, only an hour or so, till they came across an inn and rode into the courtyard.

"Tie up our horses." Arthur commanded a stable-boy wearily and the boy didn't hesitate in running forward and taking the reins as he watched Arthur dismount with a look of sheer awe on his face.

"You're Arfur Castus, ain't ya?" The scrawny boy asked enthusiastically; excitement shining bright in his dull eyes.

The man with dark waves and a kind, if not weary, face nodded and sent the boy on his way scurrying eagerly away with the horses. The other men were also dismounting and handing their horses to various stable-hands, and each nodded in turn to Arthur as he strode over to the carriage. He was surprised when Beatrix opened the carriage door herself and stepped out into the fresh night air; breathing deeply as she smiled and looked around at the hazy lantern-lights that littered the small cobbled courtyard.

"Ah, Miss Clarke. We shall be retiring here for the night. Would you like some food, or just rest?" Arthur asked kindly, slightly amused at the variety of characteristics this young woman had shown them in the past few hours.

Beatrix ushered Alice out on the coach calmly and turned to Arthur with a thoughtful expression.

"Perhaps t'would be best for us to freshen up before we meet you for dinner?"

"Of course Miss Clarke." Arthur said, bowing low and escorting the two ladies into the calling warmth of the inn.

* * *

Beatrix gave Alice a comforting pat on the shoulder as she set down the bowl of water in front of the girl on the vanity dresser. Alice frowned as the dark-haired girl stood behind her; a mirror image of how they had been mere hours ago in Beatrix's room.

Beatrix watched in satisfaction as Alice splashed her face with the refreshing liquid and patted it dry with a nearby cloth, only stopping and trying to turn when Beatrix began to undo her hair.

"Beatrix what are you doing?" She asked with mild confusion, frowning at her friend in the mirror and watching the dreamy smile that graced the other girl's lips.

"Fixing your hair."

"But I should be the one tending to you-"

"No Alice." Interrupted Beatrix firmly, grasping hold of the younger woman's shoulders and resting her head on top of Alice's. "You are my handmaiden no longer. You are my companion and you will be wise to remember that."

Alice laughed at Beatrix's failing straight face and mock-angry tone and instead relaxed and let Beatrix undo her hair and brush it gently.

"My mother always used to brush my hair for me when I was a little girl. I loved it so. Sometimes I'd even brush her's too, she'd teach me how to pin it up in just the right ways and she'd always tell me the story of Rapunzel when she put me to bed." Beatrix recalled delicately, her slender fingers drifting through Alice's golden locks and fixing it effortlessly with some of her own flowered pins. "When at first you arrived I remember thinking that you must have been the girl from the fairytales and that it was your golden hair that would one day be let down from a tower."

Alice shook her head and chuckled at her friend as Beatrix told her many other stories about her mother; all the while pinning up the golden locks into a striking style.

"Oh Beatrix, it's beautiful!" Gasped Alice once the older girl had finished.

She sat staring wide-eyed at the mirror, not daring to touch her hair should it fall out of place and ruin everything. Alice couldn't believe her eyes; she, a simple handmaiden, looked like the princess from the fairytales. Her blonde ringlets were swept up on top of her head in the most extraordinary design and fell about her face perfectly; framing her rose-blush cheeks and china blue eyes, making her look like a small porcelain doll. "But what are you to do with your hair?"

"I'm going to leave it down." Beatrix stated defiantly and Alice span around in shock at the statement.

"Beatrix! You can't do that! It's…it's…not proper!" Hissed her friend, making Beatrix's smile grow larger and larger until at last she had to laugh at the aghast expression on Alice's face.

"Oh darling Alice," Sighed Beatrix lovingly, hugging her friend who till sat on the vanity stool. "You are such a dear."

Brushing her hair quickly, and letting the dark brown waves and curls float about her middle, Beatrix grabbed Alice's hand and dragged her from the room.

* * *

_A/N: Hmm well...here I am meant to be doing my dreaded german orals and look where it's got me...another new chapter! As you will quickly find out, I do like my drama as you can see so it was only right to add a little bit in this chapter. Got lots of ideas for other chapters too, but don't hesitate to give me your's too! Very much appreciated, and let me tell you when I got home from my friend's this morning I was smiling like I had a hanger in my mouth after all those lovely reviews! Thanks so much everyone, I'm so glad it's had such a good response and please tell me what you think about this latest chapter as I'm not quite sure if I like it or not..hm..ah well. (P.S. I'll get round to individual reviewer thanks at some stage...eventually lol)Thanks everyone xx_


	3. Chapter 3

The men were sat in a small alcove in the cosy, fire-lit pub. They basked in the stifling warmth of the comfortable surroundings and supped from their full tankards and watched the fireplace crackle and flicker across the room.

"She's a pretty one, that lass. Ain't she?" Bors announced after a minute of silence and everyone turned to look at him with a range of smiles varying from thoughtful to lusty. Or, in Tristan's case; an impassive stare.

"What'll Vanora think of this Bors, eh?" Gawain jeered, laughing at the sudden fearful expression on the large man's face. "Last time she caught you looking at another girl she battered you!"

Bors rubbed his cheek absent-mindedly with a wicked smile and all the others laughed.

"Well we soon made it up with-"

"Shhh." Hissed Galahad loudly, effectively interrupting the raucous horseman. "You never know when one of them might walk in. It's not proper for them to hear such things!"

"Is it not proper for a woman like myself to wear her hair down?" A teasing voice cut through the air and everyone turned in startled surprise.

Beatrix's smile broadened as she watched the fright she had given them, but her smile soon turned to a frown as they continued to stare at her.

"What is it?" She asked hastily, checking herself to make sure there was nothing on her dress or that it had been ripped.

Arthur noticed her mortification and instantly compelled himself to calm her fears.

"No, no, nothing is wrong my Lady. It is simply that we have never seen such glorious hair before."

Beatrix's face did not change from flustered anxiousness, but a deep blush slowly made its way across her smooth cheeks and she looked down in embarrassment. The other men exchanged smirks and smiles as Arthur began excusing himself for embarrassing her and offering her a seat.

Beatrix gave him a small smile and took her place next to Arthur with Tristan on the other side of him; facing Galahad, and she eased back against the wooden slatted wall and smoothed wood of the bench. Alice was seated at the end of the small alcove with Lancelot and Gawain on one side of her and Beatrix on the other; looking distinctly mousy as she sat further back into the seat and caught Lancelot's devilish smirk.

The group made small talk for a while about Beatrix's father and how all of the men had come to be what they were, until one of the barmaids bustled her way over.

"If you'd like to go an' see the board, then I'll be back in a moment to get ya food." She told them with a smile, wiping her hands on the dirty cloth stuck in her apron and walking away again to check on the few other patrons in the inn.

"Ladies first." Suggested Lancelot with a crooked smile and Arthur and the ever-silent Tristan moved out of the way to let the two young ladies out; who promptly thanked them and scurried over to a large black board near the fireplace; weaving in and out of the empty or half-filled tables and slowly being illuminated in a fiery aura.

"So Alice, what are you thinking of having?" Beatrix commented casually, a finger pressed gently to her pursed lips as she scanned the dishes. "The roasted goose… or Lancelot?"

Alice spluttered in indignation as she watched a sly grin edge onto the other young woman's face. Her mouth opened slightly as she searched for something to retort with, but upon finding none she turned back to the board with a glare; a small blonde curl coming lose from her hair and falling gently across her cheek and rather ruining her piqued effect.

"Oh come now dear Alice. Surely you can't be thinking that the goose would be better than him?" Beatrix mocked, fighting desperately to keep a straight face as she swept her eyes over the chalked list of platters. She watched Alice out of the corner of her eye whose cheeks had taken on a rosier glow and eyes a sparkle.

"No, of course not Beatrix. Goose can only go with potato, or garnish whereas that man, I imagine, would go well with anything."

It was Beatrix's mouth that fell open this time as she listened to the prim reply and jerked her head up to catch the triumphant grin on her friend's face. Alice was definitely more relaxed now that she was no longer someone's serf and was consequently becoming more bold and daring, and Beatrix liked it.

"Been thinking hard about that then?" Whispered Beatrix and Alice slapped her arm lightly with a smile.

Beatrix looked mortified once again and let out a shocked laugh before she whacked Alice right back. Both girls turned to look at each other stunned; the firelight casting a pleasant glow over everything, and simultaneously started to giggle. Their hands flew up to their mouths as they stood shaking with laughter and staring at the board fiercely as they forced the quiet laughter to subside as to not make any more of a scene.

Beatrix chanced a furtive glance over her shoulder to find all of the men watching the pair by the fireplace; bemused and amused expressions and smiles of varying degrees greeting her, and an elegant arched eyebrow from the stoic scout.

Turning back to the board and grinning gleefully Beatrix hissed: "I think I'll be having myself a little of Lancelot too."

* * *

"So," Arthur asked politely, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief from his the pocket in his waistcoat and turning to look at Beatrix. "If you don't mind my saying, your betrothal seems like a very smart match." 

Beatrix chewed thoughtfully and tilted her head slightly, her face darkening a little.

"Yes, I suppose." She mumbled quietly, quickly dipping her head back to stare at her half-full plate.

"You don't sound happy about the match." Dagonet stated, rather than questioned, in his deep rolling, but tender, voice.

Beatrix looked up at him with a soft smile of recognition and bobbed her head in agreement. "I've never had the pleasure of meeting Sir Fielding before so I know not what to expect. Yes, certainly I have heard stories of him and listened to many talk of him, but never have I set eyes on the man before. Who goes to say that he is not some…some… depraved gentleman of some high-standing that has gone to his head and made him as pompous and big-headed as the rest of the nobility?" Spat Beatrix bitterly, before realising she was with company and putting an immediate halt to her babbling ranting.

"You've never met him?" Asked Galahad slowly and Beatrix shook her head as she hid behind the hair that had fallen in front of her face. "But that's absurd! How can you marry a man you don't love, let alone even know!"

Beatrix smiled sadly at the young man's outburst and tilted her head to look at him across the table.

"Not everyone marries for love. Marriage is a convenience when it comes to wealth and social-standing. We are all but players in life's cruel game."

Everyone fell silent, mulling over their own thoughts and growing distant; the crackling of the fire and quite chatter of the few patrons resounding in their ears and mixing with the screams, laughter and whipping wind of their own individual memories.

Only one person was secluded enough from their own thoughts; though they were still there even after so much practice at blocking them out, and was watching the young woman waging war on her emotions. Tristan could see it in her midnight blue eyes, the way she chewed upon her pouting lips and frowned as if to wish away the memories.

Beatrix chided herself silently for causing such disturbance and instead set down her knife and fork and smiled widely at everyone seated.

"Can any of you dance?" She enquired with a mixture of curiosity and delight and was met by various degrees of amused and beaming grins.

"Of course Miss Clarke." Lancelot replied charmingly and Beatrix beamed eagerly at Alice.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Whispered Galahad in awe as Beatrix twirled surrounded by the firelight and laughed sweetly as Arthur caught her hand.

Gawain smirked into his drink and gave the younger man a sly grin as he watched the two couples dancing; accompanied by one of the barmaids singing a joyful ditty and some other travellers playing various instruments.

"Boy, we're delivering her to one of the wealthiest and respectable men in England. Won't do you any good to attempt at wooing her with your wily charms." Snorted Gawain, placing his tankard back onto the wooden table with a satisfied sigh.

Galahad sighed and sagged back against the rough whitewashed walls and timber cladding, his face dejected and his mood sinking.

"I know but…you have to admit, she is beautiful."

Tristan watched her in silence with a vicious intensity; the way the vast skirt of her dress moved with easy grace, how her becoming figure was outlined perfectly by the glowing firelight and her smile…oh that smile…it lit up her whole face and could be contagious if he was the sort of man to smile. He smiled inwardly though, but suddenly realisation dawned on him and he sat back in confusion. What was he doing? Never before had he watched a woman like this, or found himself wanting, no, needing to know more about her mysterious character. She was challenging even himself in the enigma stakes and Tristan smirked as he accepted the challenge and gulped from his tankard; head leaning back against the wall and eyes smiling slyly as he watched the firelight play over her skin.

"You are an excellent dancer, sir." Commented Alice quite breathlessly as she was spun back once again into the arms of the alluring dark-haired man; Lancelot.

He spun her again with easy grace so that she was facing him and leant forward to whisper huskily in her ear: "I'm not just an excellent dancer, mademoiselle."

Alice looked aghast as his forward behaviour and instantly tried to duck her head but Lancelot lifted it back up with one of his fingers and flashed her an impish grin; the sparkle in his dark eyes producing a slow blush to creep up Alice's cheeks and her eyes to dart around agitatedly.

"You're so beautiful when you blush." He whispered softly; his eyes and face teasing but his voice sincere.

Alice continued to stare at him in silent wonder until he twirled her away from him again and they broke eye contact. She shook her head to free herself from certain thoughts as she flew across the floor and caught Beatrix smiling at her. She smiled back, albeit a tad unconvincingly, before she was once again pulled back to the fascinating eyes of Lancelot.

Eventually the song finished, the pair not having spoken a word more, and Lancelot caught the mousy girl's eye as he bowed low and she curtsied.

"Thank you for the dance, sir." Muttered Alice quietly as she stood up and the curly-haired man smiled and bent again to kiss her hand.

"The pleasure is all mine, really. And call me Lancelot." He told her, his eyes never straying from her's even as he bent to kiss her soft skin.

Alice nodded and retracted her slender hand from his larger, warm one and went back to sit at the table, closely followed by him.

If he concentrated hard enough he could still smell her fragrance of jasmine and rose and he caught himself glancing over at her as she watched some of the other travellers dancing amongst Beatrix and Galahad. Smirking to himself, he couldn't help himself as his dark eyes swept over her rosy lips, up into her golden locks and down to grace the intricate embroidery on her bodice.

He smiled waywardly to himself and drunk deep from his tankard before his gaze went to play out across the animated dancing couples.

"You like to dance then Miss Clarke?" Galahad asked with a wide grin as she smiled blissfully and followed his lead obediently.

"Please, it's Beatrix, Galahad. And yes, ever since I was a child. My brother would let me stand on his feet and dance with me when we went to any balls." Beatrix shook her head good-naturedly at all of the happy and joyful memories and let her head fall back as she closed her eyes and laughed lightly.

Galahad watched in fascination as the beauty in his arms radiated delight and elation; his mouth open slightly as he smiled full of awe and watched her enchanting face light up.

Pulling herself back to reality she opened her midnight blue eyes eagerly and let herself glide across the wooden flooring as she was pushed gently away. Her dress lightly skimmed the floor but was surprisingly agile as she moved and the golden thread caught the firelight and made the whole garment shine; only hidden by her dark curls as the landed back a bit below her shoulders after their short flight in the air as she span.

This man was gentle but firm with her and Beatrix found herself enjoying the dance with an unexpected intensity as she felt his strong arm wrap around her waist once again and keep her close to him. His eyes sparkled like emeralds as they twirled, glided and whirled around the room and Beatrix soon found herself lost in the music and the man before her.

But as the song came to an end and Galahad bent to kiss her hand indulgently, Beatrix had lifted her head and found herself being regarded markedly by the mysterious man she had heard to be called Tristan. His dark eyes bored straight into her soul it seemed and Beatrix found herself breathless from not just the dancing.

"My thanks, my lady." Galahad smiled obviously thrilled and offered Beatrix his arm as he led her back to the table.

"No, no…the thanks should be bestowed upon you my dear Galahad." Beatrix mumbled distractedly, allowing herself to be escorted numbly back to the table as she stared deep into the black depths of Tristan's eyes.

He let her have her moment to study him before he arched an eyebrow and she smirked belatedly at him. It wasn't the response he'd been expecting; an uncomfortable shake of the head and perhaps a subtle blush as she averted her eyes, but no. Instead she was smirking lightly at him and finding a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Well I think it high time we find our beds now; gentlemen, ladies." Arthur announced proudly, bowing his head to everyone gathered and standing up to bid them goodnight. "I trust you found your room adequate Miss Clarke?"

Beatrix smiled as he helped her up and she turned herself towards Arthur, but slid her eyes ever so slightly to the right to look over his shoulder at Tristan.

"Yes, my many thanks Mr Castus." She said, averting her eyes back to his smiling ones and curtsying before she bade him goodnight and strolled past him.

Tristan stood still exactly where he was as Beatrix drifted past, her hand brushing against his and leaving a lingering touch there afterward.

"May your dreams be sweet Tristan." She whispered, and then she was gone.

* * *

_A/N: I have to go and pick the era I know practically nothing about to write a fic on don't I? lol. My romantic fancy gets a bit out of control sometimes, hehe.There have been many an argument about whether a 17th Century tavern would have cushions or not, and whether the walls would be plastered or wattle and daubed, but I've probably still got it wrong -sigh-. Don't hesitate to correct me if I have got anything wrong, I've tried my best to research it accurately but you know what these things are like lol. _

_And to everyone who has read/reviewed: Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you! I'm so relieved/elated that you all liked it so much! I'm really sorry it took me so long to update but this past week at school has been really hectic, but I broke up for the Christmas holidays today so hopefully if everything goes according to plan I'll be able to write a bit over the holidays! Hoorah! __And I just want to congratulate you all on being amazing reviewers! -claps- They have been so great to read and left me grinning like a cheshire cat! lol. All of your ideas and opinions have been very very much appreciated and yes I indeed will be pairing off Alice and Beatrix, but to whom? I've heard quite a few votes for our damn hot scout, the one, the only...Tristan! hehe -dreamy smile-. Ahem...yes...where were we? Ah I remember now, yes so I hope you: enjoy, continue to enjoy, and keep those lovely reviews coming in! I'm sorry I haven't had time to reply to them but I will after this chapter hopefully! So without further ado...THANK YOU! hehe Merry Christmas everyone xx_


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas Woodruff growled as he rode through the spot where the gun battle had taken place mere hours ago. The bodies of the horsemen and the few dead horses had been moved into the thick undergrowth at the side of the road but he could still make out the smell of blood and used gunpowder. The viscous patches glinted dully in the moonlight that streamed through between the shadowy overlap of branches; the sickly sheen of the blood telling the horseman what had happened before.

A sense of loss and despair held the area in its grasp, as well as a touch of loneliness and underlying anger. The horse dithered nervously in the darkness as its rider sat slowly glaring across the gloomy path; drinking in the sight before him and looking for anything that might be worth taking. Upon finding nothing, Woodruff snarled and fixed his cap back upon his head, kicking his horse into a gallop and disappearing into the night.

* * *

A chilly mist hung around the tavern as dawn broke. Tristan was already awake, staring steadily out from behind the cool glass of the window, thick blanket bunched around his waist as he calmly looked out into the white haze that was currently drifting past his window.

Silence prevailed over the inn and Tristan found himself at a loss of anything to do as he sat silently amongst his tangled bedclothes; the chill air ghosting across his bare chest. He sighed inwardly as he flopped back onto the bed and gazed up at the ceiling; his dark eyes scanning lazily across the uneven plaster from beneath his unruly mop of hair, but his mind was ticking away hastily for ways in which to learn more about a certain Miss Clarke.

"Alice?" Hissed an urgent voice, waiting a moment before cursing beneath their breath. "Alice?"

Beatrix moaned faintly in frustration and clasped her arm to her chest as she moved away from the dresser and began looking around the room in mild desperation for something that could suffice as a bandage. The blood was already soaking through to her shift and she sighed agitatedly as she glanced down to see the crimson stain soaking into the white fabric in an ever increasing smear.

"Alice!" Beatrix hissed slightly louder and more urgently this time but although the girl moaned in her sleep, she made no attempt at waking up.

Beatrix gathered her long shift in one hand, holding her still bleeding wrist to her chest with the other and crept towards the door, opened it carefully and snuck out into the corridor.

She stood still for a moment, listening to her own breathing as she cautiously made sure no-one was awake from the tell-tale silence only interrupted by Bors' loud snores.

Turning to her left, Beatrix crept down the empty hallway, pausing every time one of the worn floorboards creaked beneath her weight and only continuing after another moment of silence to check no-one was moving around. The blood was steadily soaking through to her skin; its warm sticky substance coating her chest and running hotly down her arm.

After what had seemed like an eternity she reached one of the doors in which one of her escorts were staying and took a breath before knocking lightly on the door. She waited timidly as she listened for any footsteps or noises from the room and was about to turn away when the door was opened.

Looking at Tristan in surprise due to the absence of any sounds of his moving towards the door, Beatrix took in his current state: topless and thus leaving his rippled chest open to her observations, his hair falling neatly into his eyes and his hot, dark gaze staring at her.

"Er…sorry to bother you, but…" Beatrix trailed off and instead held her arm out to him; revealing the streaks of blood running down her arm and the large pool that had soaked into her thin shift.

He instantly stepped out of the way to let her through the door and she silently obliged with a faint nod and small smile.

"How did you do that?" He asked quietly, closing the door behind him carefully and moving towards the young injured woman.

It was the first time Beatrix had heard Tristan's voice and a small smile crept up to her mouth as she revelled in its deep, gravely, sensual quality. She closed her eyes for a second as she memorised the rich timbre of his voice but opened them again quickly and turned to face the awaiting man.

"I was washing and I mustn't have seen a broken shard of the bowl on the dresser…" She answered softly, looking down towards her arm as she trailed off and seeing Tristan nod. "I'm sorry I had no bandages but I didn't know what else to do." She told him as he began rummaging through one of the drawers in a chest and pulling out white linen strips and filling a bowl of water.

Turning back to her, his gaze was dark and intense and he motioned for her to sit down on the bed. She complied obediently and seated herself gently on the edge of it as he pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her.

Beatrix watched his hands work deftly in cleaning her wound and washing away the blood that had trickled down her arm, and she raised her head to look at him from beneath thick lashes.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." She whispered softly, watching his brow furrow in concentration and holding his gaze as he raised his eyes to look at her serene face.

"You didn't. I was already awake." He replied plainly, and Beatrix smiled at his response. He looked at her questioningly with an arched eyebrow as he began wrapping her slender arm in the rough bandages.

She simply continued in smiling and turned her head away shyly as his rough hands swept over her skin with ease and fixed the material firmly around her wrist.

"It's so…desperately lonely outside." She sighed thoughtfully, and Tristan cast his gaze up to watch her staring woefully out of the window. "Wonderful, isn't it?"

He was surprised by her comment and watched her closely as her midnight eyes sparkled with something akin to contentment, sighing dreamily and brushing her long dark curls out of the way so that she could see him properly.

"I wouldn't have thought you would like the isolation." He murmured gently in his gruff voice, lowering his head again and tying off the ends of the bandage.

Beatrix leaned backwards slightly and glanced up at the ceiling as Tristan had been doing before.

"Why do you think that?" She asked intently, still staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling.

Tristan turned his head to look over his shoulder as he moved about the room replacing his things, and shrugged his shoulders even though she was not looking at him.

"You just don't seem the type."

Beatrix dropped down to her elbows then, beaming gracefully at him from her position on the bed and he once again found himself raising an eyebrow in questioning. This time however, she didn't disappoint him.

"And you do not seem the type to miss such qualities." She remarked calmly with a teasing tone and Tristan felt a small smirk tug at his lips.

"Well you have many secrets, Beatrix." He replied easily, the smirk evident in his rich accented voice as it rolled around the room.

"As do you, Tristan." She commented mischievously, lifting herself up off the bed and gliding toward him in a strolling gait. "We have much to learn about one another."

The scout caught her playful gaze as she smoothly moved around him and towards the door, her slender fingers reaching out to graze the door handle.

"Many thanks Tristan." She breathed light-heartedly, tugging open the stiff door as quietly as she could and bowing her head to him as she closed it behind her.

Tristan smirked and walked back over to the bed with a light in his eyes that none of the Knights would be able to recognise or even say that they had witnessed before in all their years of riding together. It left his usually piercing eyes with a sharp gleam that was one with a smile rather than bloodlust.

Roughly pulling the covers back up the bed Tristan became aware of something scratching at his arm. He looked down with a curious frown, picked up the small object and twirled it in his fingers as he dangled it in front of the light streaming from the window. She'd left a small bracelet with the inscription 'E.C." in a delicate script engraved in the burnished silver metal; the metallic surface glinting sharply in the clear white misty light.

Tristan sat down heavily on the bed; still twirling the bracelet around his fingers as he puzzled over it's possible owner and how Beatrix had come to possess it. The catch had broken on it; Tristan realised with his careful scrutiny and dismissed its breakage as being a result from Beatrix's injury. He knew he'd have to give it back later but for now he was quite satisfied in contemplating the enigma of the bracelet and of Miss Clarke.

* * *

Galahad smiled widely as he hefted the heavy trunks up onto the coach and opened the carriage door for Beatrix and Alice to get in. Beatrix smiled gratefully and bowed her head to him as she climbed in; her skirts gathered carefully in her hand as she ducked in with easy grace. Alice, however, was not used to wearing such extravagant dresses as the one Beatrix had given her last night. She had only ever worn simple maids clothes before so the new many tiered, very large and extremely heavy material of the dress was definitely causing her problems in attempting to clamber into the carriage. By the time a hand was offered to her, Alice's face was scarlet and Beatrix was laughing quietly, so Alice took the hand with much appreciation.

"Thank you…Lancelot." She muttered quietly, pausing a moment as she looked up to see whose hand she had taken.

"No trouble at all, Miss." He replied with a handsome grin and shook his curly head as Alice flung herself into the carriage with embarrassment.

He looked up to see Galahad smiling too and took a cuff at the lad when no-one else was watching. This only made him laugh as he shut the door and strode off towards the others who were discussing their route as their horses were brought to them.

"So which way are we going then Arthur?" Gawain asked with a frown as he took the reins of his horse and stroked its nose as they stood huddled in the courtyard.

"I say we continue on the route we originally planned." Arthur told them firmly, not disappointed when he saw the various frowns and disproval on his men's faces; he had expected it after all.

"Even with so many highwaymen as we witnessed the other night?" Galahad urged lowly, his voice little more than a growl as he tried to keep quiet.

Arthur looked at him wearily and nodded as he mounted his horse which was a sign that he had made up his mind.

"Come men, while the morn is still early."

The body of horses and the coach in its centre swayed as they made their way gradually along the various rutted roads towards London. They were still a good few days ride away but the weather was keeping fine so Arthur saw no reason for them to hurry. The countryside around them was slowly but surely readying itself for winter as the skies began to cloud and lighten to a milky white and the leaves free themselves from the trees in a vibrant array of yellows, crimsons, russets and oranges.

Quiet chatter and banter could be heard over the trundling of the wheels as it bounced along the potholed trail and mixed easily with the horses' hooves.

"What will you do when we arrive in London?" Galahad asked Gawain wistfully as they rode next to the rocking coach.

The golden haired horseman cocked his head slightly as he thought about his answer, until a wicked grin slowly crept across his features and made the younger man laugh.

"What I do every time we arrive somewhere new. Drink, drink some more and get myself a nice young woman to keep me warm." He announced impishly in his playful growl and Galahad rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Hey Arthur! We are havin' a few days leave before we go off 'gain, aren't we?" Bors bellowed up to the front of convoy, his loud voice carrying the distance easily.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head at Lancelot before he twisted around and yelled back:

"Yes Bors!"

"Good, good." Bors laughed and nudged his silent companion, Dagonet, with elbow as he began describing all the things he would do when he arrived in London.

"He could make the devil blush." Whispered Alice as the two women listened to Bors' raucous talking and laughter that carried from his position behind the carriage.

Beatrix grinned at her friend and paused to see if she could hear anything of what Lancelot and Arthur were saying as they rode ahead of them, but another blast of uproarious laughter from Bors scattered her concentration. Instead she settled herself in peering out of the window at the rolling countryside that they were travelling through; smiling blissfully at the vivid leaves that drifted past the window as they fell from the overhanging trees. _So beautiful, even in their death…_

Frowning, Beatrix chastised herself for thinking such thoughts and moved back to sink into the plush fabric of the seats just as Alice began to speak.

"Beatrix…" She began hesitantly, fiddling with a small handkerchief she had in her hands. "What will happen when we arrive in London?"

Beatrix narrowed her eyes as she watched Alice fumbling with the lace handkerchief, it reminded her of something she used to do but for the life of her she couldn't remember what.

"Oh. Well I expect Mr Castus and the others will escort us directly to Sir Fielding. After we marry," Beatrix took an involuntary shuddering breath at the word. "We shall live at his London residence and you shall be my trusted lady-in-waiting, if it suits you?"

Alice immediately brightened at the concept and nodded fervently as she let out a relieved sigh.

"I wasn't sure whether there would be a place for me in his new household." She admitted quietly, a tinge of sadness in her words.

"I'll always make a place for you Alice." Smiled Beatrix, still watching the twisted handkerchief intently as she searched her mind for the missing memory.

It was something she would always do; whenever she was nervous…she would fiddle with something around her wrist…something small….something…her bracelet!

Beatrix jerked forwards out of her seat, startling Alice considerably as she yanked up her sleeve and searched frantically for the silver band.

"No, it's gone!" She cried, tears blurring her vision as she clawed at her arm in vain.

"What's gone Beatrix? What ever is the matter?" Alice pleaded desperately, moving forward to comfort her friend.

"The bracelet…the bracelet…" She whispered softly and gave up looking for it numbly; her arms going limp, her face sorrowful and red scratches marking her arm.

A knock on the window made Alice jump again and she turned surprised to see Tristan riding alongside the coach.

"Can I help you sir?" She asked politely as she finally managed to wrench open the stiff window with a slight groan.

Tristan searched her innocent face for a moment; noting the slight alarm and sadness that her eyes bestowed and he glanced past her to find Beatrix sat numbly staring at the floor with a silver tear running down her face.

"I wanted to return this." He announced quietly in his husky voice, a small silver bracelet dropping from his palm and dangling from his index finger.

Beatrix's head turned slightly to the left to see what he was talking about and her eyes instantly lit up with unholy intensity. She shuffled along the seat hastily and gazed at the bracelet with open bewilderment and amazement.

"The catch on it was broken so I assumed it must have broken when you injured yourself." Tristan explained gently, a satisfied smile deep within his eyes as he watched Beatrix slowly smile and her midnight eyes sparkle with glee. "I found it amongst the bedcovers."

Beatrix slowly reached out and smiled in relief and amazement as the familiar weight was dropped into her open palms. She quickly took to running a finger over its smooth surface gently as she studied its private designs and markings that only she knew from memory. Her smile faltered though as her finger ran over the catch and slid to a stop; gently resting on the cool silver.

"I thought you said it was broken." She frowned, her voice taking on a slightly accusing tone as she jerked her head up to look at him from behind the safety of her dark curls.

"It was. I fixed it." Tristan replied simply, his voice matter-of-fact and his expression returned to its usual staid aloofness.

Before Beatrix had time to thank him, Tristan had spurred his horse forward and left Alice and herself alone with the cool breeze.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, and it isn't even that good!I have to admit I struggled on this one but once I start something then I'm too stubborn to start again lol. And so far I think I've portrayed most of my characters as total floozies and psychopaths so you know, I'm doing well lol. I have some really good drama in store but I can't write it yet and its really really frustrating me! hehe but when it coes to the appropriate place hopefully it's going to be good. And can anyone guess who 'E.C.' is/ why the bracelet is so important? And was that...flirting between Tristan and Beatrix! Oh my..._

_Thanks for all your amazing reviews! I hope I've replied to all of them, if I missed anyone out then just tell me and I'll check back. But seriously guys, you're all so nice! And nice reviews makes a happy author so well done! -applauds- I should really start giving cookies or something to you all they're that good lol. Tell me what you think and I'll (hopefully!) start writing the next chapter soon! Thanks xx_


	5. Chapter 5

Beatrix descended from the carriage as it came to a stop in the woodland path, a brook gurgling thick and fast a few metres from the road. The others were dismounting from their horses and talking amongst themselves as they walked around, setting up a small circle of logs to prepare for lunch.

"Miss Clarke if you are to walk, then I suggest you do not stray too far." Arthur called after her and she called back her agreement as she ambled towards the stream.

The scent of the woodland filled the air and the shrill songs of birds lingered in the heavy air; carried by the soothing rustling of the branches that made for a gentle background beneath the many layers of birdsong, ever quieting chatter and the thick burbling of the brook as its water gushed over the rocks and pebbles and coursed its way through the tranquil scenery.

The screech of a hawk suddenly brought Beatrix's attention and she jumped backwards in shock as the impressive bird perched elegantly on a branch just above the young woman's head. What surprised Beatrix more was the fact that she had jumped backwards into something, or rather someone, and upon whirling around in startled alarm she found it to be Tristan.

"Good grief, I am sorry." Beatrix panted as the fright wore off and she saw a flicker of amusement deep within the keen eyes of the impassive horseman.

He waved it off with a shrug and slithered past her to make for the bubbling stream leaving her to follow in curiosity.

"Is that your hawk?" She enquired inquisitively with a contemplative smile as she observed the graceful hawk sat preening itself in the tree.

Tristan turned his head to see what she was talking about before tilting it to face her and nodding. Beatrix looked awe-struck as he whistled low, straightening himself from where he had been filling his water-carrier from the clear waters of the brook, and in a flutter of wings the hawk was perched easily upon his arm and eyeing him with a keen eye. The bird then began to chirp and nip at his fingers and he chuckled deep in his throat.

"Alright girl, here you are." He told her soothingly, extracting a strip of dried meat from a pocket in his jacket and feeding it to his hawk who received it eagerly.

Tristan cast his eyes upwards to see Beatrix's face a perfect picture of astonishment and respect and he cleared his throat.

"Would you like to hold her?"

"What?" Beatrix asked immediately, reality hitting her full-force as Tristan looked at her with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow.

"She won't harm you." He reassured her, taking her soft hand in his and gently pulling on it until she had her arm straight out against his.

He watched Beatrix's face as he pulled a strip of worn leather out of one of his jacket pockets and rested it on her arm before gently depositing the hawk upon it. At first she had looked rather apprehensive but slowly she relaxed and a small smile widened across her fairy-like mouth and set her midnight eyes ablaze with pride and excitement.

"Gosh, she's beautiful." Beatrix breathed delightfully as Tristan stroked the hawk's head lovingly and whispered to it in a language unknown to the inquisitive woman.

Tristan nodded and gently taking hold of Beatrix's other arm he guided it until her finger was softly tracing the velvety feathers of the bird's head all the way down to the sleek hardness of its beak. He watched smiling to himself as Beatrix beamed proudly at her ability.

With a simple chirp, the hawk nuzzled her finger before taking flight and wheeling upwards into the clearing in the canopy and higher into the sky. Beatrix watched dumbstruck as it circled above before she returned her attention to the softly smirking man in front of her.

"Thank you." She told him sincerely, her eyes speaking deeply of the gratitude she felt towards him. "For everything."

Tristan watched silently as one of her fingers moved vaguely to the cool silver bracelet on her wrist. He nodded his head in understanding and bent down to pick up his water-carrier that he had set down on a large rock next to the stream.

"Who is E.C.?" He asked before he could stop himself, and he turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder to gauge the young woman's reaction. Even from beneath his unruly braids he could see the pain-filled memories well up in her eyes and darken them further.

"Eleanor Clarke, my mother." She replied bluntly, her voice trying to keep any signs of emotion out.

"And R.C.?"

Beatrix turned to face Tristan in stunned silence. He met her eyes with a quiet warmth and she mused to herself that this man really didn't miss a trick, not even the two small indistinct initials she had scrawled into the metal.

"Robert Clarke, my brother." She told him, her hard eyes staring directly into his.

Ah, so now he knew one of her secrets Tristan thought to himself. He stood back up with his water-carrier in hand and was about to turn away and leave her in peace when her voice stopped him.

"My mother gave me the bracelet just before she died of scarlet fever. The doctors said the fever would break after two or three days…" Her voice wavered with thick emotion and a bright flash of pain streaked across her violet eyes. "My brother's name is on the bracelet because he left to fight in the second war with the Dutch. We received news that he had died. He became another inscription upon my bracelet."

Tristan simply looked at her as she maintained her composure and spoke with self-assured poise although the trauma was evident in her eyes; her fingers twisting agitatedly around the bracelet. He wanted to reach out and brush away the wispy dark curls that had dropped from her simple bun and that floated in front of her face in the breeze that had started. He didn't however and instead gave her a moment to regain herself whilst he whistled for his hawk. Beatrix soon pulled herself free of her reverie and crept forward to stroke the hawk's downy feathers as it nipped at Tristan's warm fingers affectionately.

"So beautiful…" She whispered aloud before smiling softly to herself and walking back towards the others.

* * *

"So beautiful…" Murmured Galahad dreamily aloud to himself as he watched Beatrix doze in the coach.

Night was falling thick and fast around them and Jols had lit the two lanterns at the front of the carriage and was urging the coach horses on as Arthur told everyone to pick up the pace.

"Well what will you do after this journey Gawain?" Galahad sneered scornfully as he caught his friend shaking his head out of the corner of his eye.

"I'll find myself a woman naturally. Although I'll be sure to make sure she isn't betrothed first."

Gawain chuckled at his love-struck friend and snorted as Galahad's mare stumbled across a stone and nearly sent the poor lad flying. Gripping tightly onto the reins as he tried to pretend like nothing had happened; Galahad sent his blonde-haired friend a glare to shut him up. It only made Gawain laugh all the more harder though and he nudged his friend with his elbow good-naturedly.

"Come now Galahad. Surely you can find it within yourself to laugh?" Gawain teased with a wide grin, only for it to change to indignant shock as his own horse took advantage of his distraction and had to jump over an excessively large log that Gawain hadn't noticed.

Letting out a surprised yelp, he was brought back to the ground rather inelegantly; sprawled across his horse's saddle with his face in it's mane. Galahad let out a peal of uncontained laughter then and everyone turned to see what it was he was laughing so hysterically at. By that stage, Gawain had managed to right himself and thankful for the dark to hide his embarrassment he simply shrugged at the others and cuffed the curly-haired laughing young man over the back of the head.

Up at the front of the procession Lancelot smirked at Arthur and shook his head. Arthur smiled warmly at his second-in-command and sighed as he urged his horse on a little faster. He could still hear Galahad's muffled laughter and Gawain's berating tone hissing at him, but for now he turned his attention away from his men.

"Thinking about Guinevere?" Lancelot asked casually, only a hint of smugness within his voice.

Arthur rolled his eyes heavenwards and smiled slightly at Lancelot before nodding his head. Lancelot shook his head again in quiet amusement and left his trusted friend and comrade to his thoughts as he became embroiled in his own…of Alice.

Arthur had been courting Guinevere for little over a year now. He was often away but she would forever be waiting for him when he returned home; her smiling face easily recognisable in the busy streets, with her sharp brown eyes alert with happiness and her long brown hair tied up in a charming fashion as she gathered up her dress skirts and ran towards him. They were due to marry soon but they hadn't had chance yet due to Arthur's being away so much. Hopefully though this would be the last trip in a long while and he would finally be able to settle down and have children with his stunning wife-to-be.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked hesitantly as he realised that he was missing something important from his little scene of the perfect wedding.

"Yes Arthur?"

Arthur fidgeted in his saddle and sighed before turning to look at the expectant face of his closest friend; his eyebrow raised in questioning.

"Would you be my best-man when I wed Guinevere?"

Lancelot sat in silence for a moment, simply staring at the hopeful but worried face of Arthur. Slowly a smile broke out onto his face and he clapped his friend across the back heartily.

"Of course I would Arthur!"

Arthur let out a large breath of relief that he'd been holding and smiled thankfully at his now jovial friend. Guinevere would be pleased he was already making arrangements.

"Now, pray tell me Arthur. How many bridesmaids will you be having?" Lancelot asked in a wicked tone and both men started laughing aloud at his roguish grin.

The laughter carried back to Bors and Dagonet who were bringing up the rear of the carriage and body of horses. Dag scanned the woods either side of the path uneasily; he had travelled this path many times before but tonight he didn't feel safe.

"We should just make it back in time for Van to have Number 8." Bors announced proudly, a wide grin spread across his face and Dag couldn't help but shrug off his worries and smile along with his friend.

"You'll have a brood big enough to run your own town soon Bors." Dag told him lightly and Bors let out a loud laugh.

"Well that's the plan. Then me and Van won't have to do nothing. Ya see?" Bors explained heartily and smiled widely again; obviously pleased with himself.

Dag patted his friend on the back and they began discussing whether Bors should actually name the children and whether he should finally get around to making an honest woman of Vanora.

Tristan smirked as he listened to Bors prattle on. He was a fearsome fighter and man if you got on the wrong side of him, but underneath he was a sucker when it came to his children or his fiery lover, Vanora. Glancing sideways, he too could see into the carriage and he chanced upon Beatrix's sleeping face.

A cracking branch secured his attention to the left and he scanned the dark woodland with narrowed eyes. He thought he saw something move but couldn't be sure in this ever increasing darkness. The light breeze that had been cooling the air before was now gathering strength gradually as it tunnelled through the warren of trees and down the open path.

"Arthur." He called sternly to the front, and upon hearing his tone Arthur spurred his horse forward and everyone followed suit.

The acceleration of the carriage wrenched Beatrix from her dreams and she looked about in confusion as she noticed everyone was riding faster. Alice slept soundly beside her so she left the girl and turned to her right. The sun was setting fast from what Beatrix could see between the dark expanse of trees and the person riding next to the window; Tristan. At that precise moment he was bellowing up to Arthur and Beatrix frowned as she tried to work out what he was saying, but a wind had started to whip around them and his words were being blown away.

"How far is the inn from here Tristan?"

"Not far, another 5 miles." Tristan bellowed back, his features dark as he rode hard into the wind.

The howl of the wind and the racket of the wheels of the rickety carriage and of horses' hooves filled the air and all of them men acquired a grim look of determination as the wind grew quickly and whipped its icy waves around them all.

A knock at the window drew Beatrix's attention and she moved carefully past the still sleeping Alice and hauled open the window. Galahad's face appeared mere inches away from it; the wind pounding harshly and driving his curls in different directions as he leant off his galloping horse to talk to Beatrix.

"What's going on?" She shouted, trying to make herself heard over the howling wind.

"We will be nearing the inn soon enough." He yelled back, squinting as the wind gusted in between him and the uncertain face of Beatrix.

"Then why are we going so fast?"

Even though she was having to shout Galahad could still hear the note of fear in her sweet voice and he tried to smile reassuringly at her in the face of the stinging wind.

"We could not be sure of any danger." He told her honestly and Beatrix nodded obediently, knowing what he meant and trusting his soft words; wisps of her hair coming loose and blowing around erratically in the gale. Galahad tried to smile at her one last time, reaching out a hand and squeezing her smooth one that gripped tightly to the windowpane, before he gently pried her's away from the wood and shut it for her firmly.

"What's going on?" Alice mumbled drowsily as Beatrix sat back down heavily in the coach; her hair amiss and her cheeks flushed from the icy wind.

"Nothing Alice, don't trouble yourself." She assured the other girl, smoothing down her silky golden hair and hugging the still droopy-eyed girl to her side as Alice dozed off once again.

"We'll be there soon enough…"

* * *

_A/N: Dun dun daaa...well ok...it was only a bit of wind...but did it feel dramatic? lol. I do have to get my kicks somewhere people, so if its dramatic wind then so be it. Anyway yes I would have continued on a bit longer but I'm feeling evil and thought it'd keep you all on edge to see whether...heaven forbid...-muffled sob- Lancelot's lustrous curls should be put out of place by the wind! -listens to shrieks of horror from various fangirls- Je connais mes petits chers! (I don't take French anymore but these internet translators work wonders don't you think? lol its most likely wrong though)  
__Also just as a nice little insight into my life, my dog has been the most fun when I'm having a break! He's like a little puppy again! He isn't jumping around, oh no, he's getting all excited and bouncing around and he's so funny and cute and awww! lol Brandy has been keeping me very entertained with his manic antics, let me tell you.  
Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing and I'll try and update soon! Merry Christmas xx_


	6. Chapter 6

The carriage and seven horsemen flew into the open courtyard in front of the inn and the men instantly dismounted, shielding themselves against the harsh gale that pounded them from all directions.

"Take the horses!" Commanded Arthur to Dagonet, Gawain and Bors and the three men nodded as they set about gathering the whinnying, snorting and rearing horses; trying to calm them as they wheeled panic-stricken in the enclosed space.

"Woah!" Shouted Gawain as Galahad's horse reared up on his hind legs and he had to strain to grab hold of the reins and get the unnerved horse under some sort of control.

"Lancelot, Tristan. Go and get the women inside now! Jols take the carriage around to the stables and Galahad come with me to help the others!" Arthur shouted over the howling of the wind, his face screwed up as he threw up an arm to shield his face from the wind.

Everyone nodded and set about doing their appointed tasks. Lancelot and Tristan ran bent over from the force of the wind to the carriage. Lancelot threw open the door closest to him and squinted to find an alarmed looking Alice who instantly stood up and made her way towards him.

"Come, quickly." He shouted at her and she climbed out of the carriage; her dress pushed this way and that as the wind enveloped her.

Lancelot slammed the door shut and grabbing hold of her small hand pulled her towards him so that he was shielding her small body from most of the wind. They set off at a run towards the door, meeting with Gawain and Bors who had gathered as many horses as they could and settled them in the sheltered stables.

Tristan flung open the door, his dark hair flying in all directions as it was battered by the wind and his calloused hand was instantly grabbed tightly as Beatrix jumped out of the coach. Her hair came loose under the wind's ferocious strength and her dark curls were sent billowing around her as she looked around hastily to see what was happening until Tristan drew her attention.

"Come on, this way." He shouted, tugging on her hand as he began to yank her towards the inn.

"Wait! I need to get my bracelet!" Beatrix yelled over the wailing of the gale, freeing her hand from Tristan's as she stumbled and ran back towards the carriage and threw open the door.

Squinting, her hair blowing around her face in all directions, she spotted the familiar silver gleam of the bracelet and grabbed it; all the while scolding herself for taking it off to look at in the carriage in the first place.

Jumping back out again, she started to run back towards where Tristan was waiting for her. Jols spurred on the coach horses with a crack of his whip and the rickety carriage trundled off round to the stables.

"Woah! Horse on the loose!" Bellowed Dagonet as the horse he'd been holding reared up and broke free of his grasp, pelting across the courtyard towards Beatrix.

A look of sheer alarm passed over her face as turned to her right and froze in the horse's oncoming path. Foam streamed from the terrified stallion's mouth and its eyes rolled so that the shaken Beatrix could see the whites of its eyes.

Tristan had been straining to see what Dagonet was doing when he jerked his head back round and finally saw Beatrix mere seconds from being trampled by the wild horse. With a grunt, he threw himself towards her; knocking them both to the ground just as the horse leaped overhead.

Beneath him, Beatrix rolled so that she came face to face with her saviour; her midnight eyes wide with fright and surprise as Tristan lay on top of her, protecting her. His dark eyes seemed never-ending as Beatrix gazed up at them, gripping onto his jacket tightly as the icy wind whipped around them.

A few seconds passed with just the deafening screech of the wind before Tristan stood up and pulled Beatrix to her feet too. She blinked at him a few times, obviously shaken by the whole experience but obediently ran alongside him as he tugged her towards the inn.

Warmth and calm enveloped them as they burst through the door of the inn; everyone else had managed to get the horses settled safely and were standing around looking wind-swept and talking nervously. As they walked towards the group Tristan let go of Beatrix's hand and she walked steadily towards Alice although beneath the heavy skirts of her dress Beatrix's legs were shaking like leaves.

But before Beatrix could make it to her friend, Galahad was by her side.

"Good grief, you're bleeding!" He told her, taking her hand and sitting her down in a nearby chair next to the fireplace.

"Am I?" Beatrix asked numbly, her voice hardly more than a confused whisper.

Galahad's handsome face was filled with concern as it once again appeared in front of her, with a bowl of water and a cloth he had taken from one of the barmaids set down on the table next to them. He dipped the cloth in the water and tentatively reached out to dab at the trickle of blood on Beatrix's forehead.

"How did you do that?" He questioned, worry etched all over his face.

Beatrix cast her eyes upwards to look at him and he noticed how serene and calm she looked although her hands were shaking a little; so he took them in his free one and soothingly rubbed his thumb over the back of her hands.

"Tristan saved me. He knocked me to the floor; I must have done it then." She replied slowly, her voice still hushed and faltering.

Galahad nodded, turning away from Beatrix for a moment and quietly called the scout over. Beatrix watched them silently, they had their backs turned to her and she couldn't hear what they were saying but she could take a pretty good guess. A moment later she saw Galahad nod his head and Tristan turned and made his way quietly over to the still quiet girl.

His face appeared in Beatrix's vision as he sat down in the chair Galahad had occupied mere minutes ago. His eyes were guarded, Beatrix noted, and she watched in quiet interest as he picked up the cloth Galahad had discard and rinsed it in the cool water of the bowl; squeezing it as he lifted it out of the water.

"I didn't realise I'd knocked you that hard." He murmured with something akin to concern hidden neatly within his growling voice and Beatrix stared at him harder, trying to work this enigma of a man.

"It was my own stupid fault. Standing in front of a horse as it's running towards you is certainly not the best of ideas." She replied easily; all traces of her previous daze forgotten and Tristan laughed quietly.

"It had to be my horse though." He muttered warmly, his dark eyes working their way down lazily to meet Beatrix's; the near-black she had always associated them with were now an array of browns and golds as they were illuminated by the firelight.

"I would have thought your horse would have been the one most used to storms though, seeing as your always checking the route ahead?"

Tristan sighed almost inaudibly and stared directly into Beatrix's perplexed eyes. She had to fight the urge to reach out and brush away his hair to see his passionate eyes better, but there was no need to as he returned to dapping lightly at her forehead to clean her wound.

"He was. But then we were out riding once and a storm hit with no warning. We were close to the others so I saw no point in stopping for shelter and started riding back. A tree I was riding past at the time caught light as it was struck by lightning, my horse reared and I was knocked to the ground." Tristan cleared his throat as he dipped the bloody cloth into the bowl of water and placed it gently against Beatrix's head again. "He isn't scared of lightning or fire for some reason, just the wind. But I guess it's because that was all he could hear as we were riding along. I've never liked strong winds so much after that either." He added furtively, giving her a crooked smirk as he pulled down his open collar a little and showed her a large scar he had there.

Beatrix nodded slightly as he finished; completely relaxed and comfortable as the fire gently warmed her back into normality. She settled herself into watching Tristan methodically rinse the cloth, squeeze the excess water out and then press it lightly to her head. He was so gentle, yet precise and she smiled as she remembered that morning.

"You're having to clean me up again." She reminded him in a whisper and he frowned; casting his mysterious eyes downwards and seeing her smile.

Beatrix smiled wider as she realised he hadn't caught her meaning, so she cautiously lifted her wrist and pulled back the sleeve to reveal the bandages. Instead of the amused smile or simple nod she had been expecting Tristan's brow furrowed and his eyes grew dark with concern; causing Beatrix to look down and see the blood seeping through the bandages.

"Let me get some more linen and I'll change them for you." He told her, his gruff voice relaxing Beatrix even more until she nodded faintly and watched him go.

Over the other side of the room, unnoticed to everyone else, Galahad scowled and gave the scout daggers as he strode towards the bar.

* * *

It was not until later that night when Beatrix was readying herself for bed that she realised Tristan had told her one of his secrets. Touché, she mused to herself as she brushed out her long, silky curls and almost laughed aloud at the irony of the situation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a rap on her door, so setting down her brush on the dresser next to the mirror; she grabbed a robe and threw it on over her shift as she answered the door.

Galahad smiled adorably as she opened the door and Beatrix let him in, closing the door quietly behind him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but Arthur thought you should know that we'll be arriving in Westminster tomorrow night."

Beatrix nearly dropped the brush as she carried it across the room. She stood in mild panic before realising she had company, she coughed and ran a shaking hand across her face to steady herself before turning and smiling gratefully at Galahad.

"My thanks. You have all been most helpful on this journey. I'm indebted to you all." Beatrix admitted, sighing and turning back to deposit her silver-backed brush in her open trunk.

Galahad moved behind her and sighed quietly; his breath hot and drifting across her dark curls as she stood perfectly still, waiting.

"Good night Miss Clarke. May you sleep well." He said before leaving the room silently.

As if Galahad had cursed her, Beatrix was plagued by nightmares that night.

* * *

Alice squeaked from underneath the tangled bedclothes as another rumble of thunder shook the building and lightning lit up her room. The blankets were pulled well over her shaking form and she breathed erratically in the stifling warmth of the coverings. Only a little storm, she told herself, nothing to worry about. All rational thoughts were scattered though as more thunder roared over head and she stuck her head out from beneath the covers to see what could have possibly made the floorboard creak so; her mind flooded with all the stories of highwaymen kidnapping young girls that her brothers had told her on stormy nights.

A muffled scream was let loose by her as the lightning illuminated a figure in her now open doorway and she jerked herself into a sitting position.

"I'm sorry Alice, I didn't mean to scare you!" A voice exclaimed huskily and the figure walked forward into the room with a lit lantern.

Alice merely whimpered and huddled backwards against the wall, pulling the blankets up around her as she peeked out from over her kneesand wondering how this bandit knew her name. Lifting the lantern and revealing his face with the dim light, Lancelot continued to walk toward the bed and Alice jumped up from the bed and threw herself at him with sheer relief.

"Lancelot! It's you!" She whimpered, burrowing her head into his neck as she gripped him tightly and flinched as more lightning cracked nearby.

Lancelot smiled and set the lantern down. "Yes it's me." He chuckled softly, picking the quivering young woman up and carrying her back to the bed.

It was only once Alice had been settled back in the small bed, Lancelot with his arms around her still trembling form and her face buried into his bare chest that she realised the situation. Jerking backwards she looked up at a slightly surprised Lancelot with wide eyes.

"Mercy be! I'm so sorry, I seem to have lost all sense of decorum." She reprimanded herself and Lancelot ran a hand through his thick curls out of awkwardness until an especially loud rumble of thunder resounded through the air and Alice yelped and he found himself being clung tightly to again.

"Alice, you're decorum is still in preservation so rest assured." He whispered into her hair as he put his arms around her shaking body and brought the covers up to rest around her shoulders. "I am simply being…a knight in shining armour for a fair, fearful maiden, shall we say?" He laughed and the deep vibrations of his warm, bare chest soothed Alice and she relaxed her grip on his arms a little. "I could hear your whimpering from the next room and I simply wished to make sure you were all right is all."

Alice nodded and mumbled something into his chest which simply caused Lancelot to chuckle some more until he raised her head with a finger under her chin.

"What was that?" He asked gently, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement and a smile on his lips.

"I was just saying thank you…and asking you if you could stay with me…please?" Alice replied quietly, blushing slightly as he nodded his head and reaching up to kiss his cheek before pulling back just as quickly. Her blush deepened and she instantly nestled back into his chest to hide her face; leaving a rather stunned, if not smug, Lancelot in her wake.

"Of course I'll stay." He murmured gently, resting his chin on the top of her head and letting her cling to him as the storm raged overhead.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry its a bit short and...meh-ish but I thought I'd get something out at least. What more can I say then "My name is Rachael...and I'm a drama addict! -cries-" lol. You can't leave me with any situation for 5 minutes without me turning it into some full-blown ordeal with horses flying about, bare-chested Lancelots climbing into beds and Tristans washing foreheads lol. -Sigh- Yes well, whats going to happen now tomorrow? Tristan and Beatrix shall be parted (I think young Galahad has accepted his fate lol) as shall Lancelot and Alice! Will anybody actually say anything about how they feel? And will anybody actually get off their arses and bloody well do anything about it? lol Who knows...Thanks for all the reviews and keep them coming with all your ideas and nice commentsplease! Hope you all had a very merry Christmas! Rach x_


	7. Chapter 7

Hazy indigo eyes opened drowsily and grimaced as they inched their way up from beneath the many blankets and peeked around the room. Beatrix groaned and flopped back onto the bed, pulling the blankets back up over her head tightly and lying with her eyes closed. It was just past dawn and the rain had finally stopped, but Beatrix had hardly slept all night and any sleep she had managed to get had been plagued with nightmares that had left her shaken and anxious.

A tapping noise on the murky glass of the window made Beatrix groan again before she flung back the covers and carefully made her way over to the other side of the room. Opening the shutters cautiously as to make as little noise as possible, Beatrix's mouth dropped to find Tristan's hawk perched on the windowsill.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed, opening the window and watching as the bird hopped in and balanced itself on her arm.

She eyed it curiously until the hawk nipped at her outstretched finger affectionately and eyed her beadily. Smiling to herself, Beatrix shut the window and the shutters and crept across the room; grabbing a shawl on her way out and slinging it round her shoulders as she closed the chamber door behind her.

Tristan quirked an eyebrow at the prospect of having someone call on him this early, so he finished pulling on his shirt; leaving the straps on his breeches hanging down by his sides and went to open the door.

"I believe this is yours." Beatrix whispered, smiling as Tristan stepped back and let her pass; his face only a little shocked but his eyes speaking his true amazement. "She was kindly tapping on my window not mere moments ago."

Tristan closed the door and could only nod as Beatrix stroked his hawk fearlessly and lowered her arm so it could perch on the back of the chair that rested by the small wooden table in his room. A look of sudden understanding came across his face and he smirked slightly as he stoked the fire near the table.

"Well if we're out and decide to stop here then I usually stay in the chamber which you're occupying at the moment." He explained and Beatrix laughed at the prospect before smiling widely and nuzzling the bird's feathers.

"Clever bird." She whispered to it, raising her head to see Tristan watching in silent admiration. "What is it?"

Tristan shook his head and smiled at her. "It's just that usually I'm the only one to touch her. Anyone else she'll bite. Many of the others have scars where she's warned them off after they got too close." He chuckled at that, remembering a flailing Galahad as his hawk attempting to gouge his face with her sharp talons and his yells of: "I'll kill that bloody bird of yours Tristan!"

Beatrix contemplated his answer silently as the bird nuzzled her fingers again.

"She must trust you." Tristan mused aloud, stoking the fire with one of the long forks before setting it back in the stand and turning to face her.

She stood awkwardly for a moment, watching the bird preen itself before she turned her eyes up and saw his gaze trained on her face intently. He could easily see the tears that glistened over her midnight eyes and he frowned at her as she began to laugh nervously and wipe at her eyes hastily.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be disturbing you again this early in the morn. I should be going." Rambled Beatrix quickly, turning and going to make for the door.

Tristan sighed inwardly and doing something he would never normally do, he reached out a hand and rested it upon her arm; stilling her. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, the confusion evident on her face.

"What troubles you?" He prompted, his voice filled with hidden curiosity and disquiet.

Beatrix sighed, turning herself fully around to face him slowly; her eyes closed and a single tear trickling down her cheek.

"Look at me." He told her, his voice quiet and smooth as Beatrix took a shuddering breath; glancing up at him with mournful eyes behind the unshed tears.

She turned her head away just as quickly but he kept his hand on her arm and gently moved towards her; ducking his head a little with a frown as he tried to meet her eyes. Beatrix eventually gave up trying to avoid looking at him and sighed as she lifted her head.

"I…" She bit her lip in frustration and cleared her throat before continuing. "I don't want to marry this Sir Fielding. What if he doesn't like me? After all I look a mess with all these cuts and bruises…" She trailed off; starting to cry again and Tristan took hold of both of her arms so that he was stood directly in front of her. "I'm scared is all."

Tristan shushed her, gently encircling with his arms and pulling her close in an effort to soothe and comfort her. He held her for a minute or two while she sobbed into his shirt, not saying anything to her but simply letting her cry it all away. After a few minutes Beatrix stopped crying and just stayed there within Tristan's arms; both silent whilst Beatrix diminished into sniffling and listened to Tristan's strong heartbeat.

Turning her head and resting her hands on his shirt, Beatrix looked up at his calm face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be troubling you so…but, thank you." She whispered, trying to smile and failing miserably.

Standing there with silken darks curls still mused from sleep, her cheeks glistening with diamond tracks and her eyes full of sorrow, Tristan could have kissed her. She looked so vulnerable and stunning in that moment, safe within his arms, her secrets so many but so exposed to him right then. Beatrix made no indication that she was about to move; her hands still pressed against his shirt and her gaze trained attentively on his smouldering eyes. The atmosphere in the room between the two suddenly altered and her breaths began to quicken ever so slightly as he tightened his arms instinctively around her waist.

A loud knocking on the door broke the moment as Bors muffled shouting erupted from the other side of the wood. "Tristan! Where in blue blazers is me boots?"

Beatrix jumped away from Tristan and was about to say something; but knowing that Bors would hear her and suspect something, Tristan yanked her back again and shushed her by putting a calloused finger to her lips. She nodded in understanding and he took her hand and steered her quickly over to the wardrobe; opening the door and ushering her inside. Tristan glanced at her and she smiled nervously before taking the door from him and closing it gently.

Striding swiftly over to the door Tristan swung it open and Bors scratched his head and grumbled stepping in as Tristan moved gracefully out of the way.

"'Ave you seen me boots anywhere? Cos they ain't in me room." Bors complained, strutting around Tristan's room looking for his boots. He stopped by the chair with Tristan's hawk perched on and eyed the shawl bundled on the seat with a frown.

Beatrix's heart stopped in her chest as she realised the shawl must have dropped from her shoulders when she bent to let the hawk off her arm. She covered her mouth with her hand as she watched through the gap where the doors of the wardrobe didn't quite meet together. If Tristan was flustered at all he didn't show it, Beatrix thought as she watched him give Bors an aloof stare that distracted the larger man's attention from the shawl.

"They're in Dag's room." Tristan confirmed calmly, pointing down the hallway and nodding his head as Bors thanked him and trudged out of the room and down the hall barefoot; cursing under his breath.

Tristan shut the door and let out a sigh of relief, leaning back onto the door and hanging his head. Beatrix crawled out of the wardrobe; smiling slightly at the apologetic scout as he raised his head wearily to look at her. Beatrix shushed him and put up her hand to stop him as Tristan began to make an apology; her smile sincere and gentle.

"Please, it was my fault for staying in the first place."

Tristan's face softened and he inclined his head slightly as if to indicate his understanding.

"Thank you." Beatrix whispered, moving up to brush a light kiss on Tristan's cheek. He moved his head gently just as she was pulling away, catching her lips with his own in a tender kiss that soon intensified.

Beatrix's mind went into a spasm and any rational thought escaped her as she clung to Tristan and felt him press her back against the door. She gasped for breath as he lined her jaw and neck with raspy kisses before pulling back to look into her deep purple eyes.

"This can't happen." She said breathlessly, her head resting back against the door; her dark curls hanging messily over her shoulders and moving in time with the heavy movements of her chest.

Tristan eyed her silently; his eyes wild and dark with passion, before he moved backwards and watched Beatrix let out a large breath; of relief or loss he was not sure, before she turned and opened the door slightly. She paused; her dark curls a drape over her face as she moved her head to the side.

"I'm sorry."

And with that she was gone. Tristan watched the door close and turned back to the room; grunting and clucking to his hawk who held a corner of the shawl in it's beak as a reminder. She'd left something else.

* * *

Snuggling into something warm, Alice sighed contentedly and clasped the source of warmth tighter. The source of warmth tightened its own grip on her and she frowned; confused as to the nature of the warmth's source and warily opened her eyes very slowly, expecting to see the worst.

Her puzzled blue eyes were met with a mound of dark brown glossy curls that were just visible over the bundle of blankets that covered the pair in bed. Biting nervously on her lip, Alice pulled back some of the covers to find a well muscled and strong arm wrapped firmly around her waist and another slung over her hip. The source of warmth was definitely human and male, and Alice bit down hard on her lip as she racked her brains trying to remember what had happened.

There was a storm, yes a big storm; Alice thought to herself, pausing a moment in her explorations as she recalled the thunder and then suddenly the shadow in the door. She gasped, half-believing that this man was going to turn out to be some vile highwayman that had bedded her in the night. She grew bolder in her investigation then; fuelled by the outrage and indignation of the possible actions of this man.

Pushing back the covers a large expanse of a well-defined muscular chest was revealed and Alice shuddered as she was reminded of the shadowy figure walking towards her with a lantern and how she had huddled against the wall, blinded by fear.

"Right then." She whispered to herself, her voice growling and filled with fury as she steadied the covers for the final tug that would reveal the true identity of the person. Her hands gripped tightly onto the covers as she steadied herself on her knees and took a deep breath; ready to pull. "Let's see what son of a-…Lancelot?"

Alice dropped the blankets in bewilderment as she gazed down at the sleeping face of Lancelot; all of her anger vanished and her mouth hung open as she wrinkled her nose in confusion. The lantern, oh yes the lantern; Alice remembered now, it all made sense! It was Lancelot who had come in the night with the lantern, he'd come to comfort her, yes that was right. Alice smiled in relief and laughed at her stupidity; a hand to her chest as she let out the breath she had been holding in suspense.

Her smile softened as the laughter subsided and she looked down at the sight before her. All sense of wickedness and mischievous wit was gone, and an innocently serene boy was left in his place. His hair was ruffled messily, tumbling over his closed eyelids and giving the impression of a small child. The endearing scene was ruined though as Dagonet knocked on the door; making Lancelot start awake, and Alice to fall backwards in shock onto the pile of blankets she had created.

"Miss Alice, its morn." Dagonet called through the door and she thanked him from amongst the hefty blankets piled over her.

Lancelot ran a hand across his face before laughing at the struggling figure buried beneath the large mound of covers.

"Alice, are you in here?" He teased, tossing back the blankets that had fallen over her.

All Lancelot received was a muffled reply, so with a mischievous grin he yanked the rest of the covers away and found Alice lying rather breathlessly at the bottom of the pile. He smiled and gave her his hand before pulling her gently out and into a sitting position. Her cheeks were flushed ever so slightly and her golden hair was tousled as she began to smile and prise the rest of her limbs from the large mound.

"You deserved that for watching me sleep." He told her, an impish grin on his face as he ran a hand through his ruffled curls and Alice instantly ducked her head to avoid his eyes. "But I suppose I deserve something in return now for watching you sleep as well."

Alice gaped at him as he laughed and stood up off the bed and stretched; striding over to the dresser where there was a jug of fresh water and some cloths. Alice jumped off the bed and followed him, her indignation now diminishing into a plan as Lancelot reached for the jug of water; yawning. His hand failed to meet the jug and danced around for a moment in confusion as Lancelot searched with his eyes still closed.

"Alice…" He started to ask, turning around and beginning to open his eyes just as the icy water from the jug hit him full in the face and left him drenched.

He spluttered for a few seconds, dripping from head to foot in cold water as Alice stood laughing; the jug held in her hands.

"Alice." Growled Lancelot, his voice now fuming but playful and his dark eyes sparkling wickedly, causing Alice to shriek and run backwards across the room as the soaking Lancelot ran after her laughing.

He caught up with her easily and grabbed her from behind; the jug smashing on the floor as he picked her up and span her around.

"Lancelot! You're getting me all wet!" Laughed Alice, closing her eyes and forgetting about the jug as he covered her in water from his bare chest.

He laughed along until he hoisted her over his shoulder and set her back down on the bed. Her leg got caught awkwardly as he laid her down though, meaning that he fell forward too and ended up lying on her. She was reduced to a fit of giggles as he rolled off her again and they laid there; breathless and smiling.

"I haven't enjoyed myself this much in years!" She gasped, turning her head to face him, a wide smile painting her delicate face.

Lancelot agreed and played with a strand of her blonde hair that had fallen in the gap between them. They stayed like that for a few minutes until they heard Bors banging noisily on the door in the next room. "Lancelot! Lancelot, get up ya lazy sod!"

* * *

Beatrix sighed anxiously, biting her lip and fiddling with her bracelet as she sat in the rickety coach. On the other side of the coach, Alice sighed dreamily and smiled to herself as she remembered that morning's events. She glanced over to Beatrix and her smile slowly disappeared from her face.

"Beatrix?" She asked hesitantly, sliding along the cushion until she was opposite her friend.

Beatrix didn't acknowledge Alice's being there and continued to stare into space until Alice patted her hand gently and Beatrix focused in on her.

"Beatrix, you are not well?"

Beatrix stared vacantly at her friend's concerned face for a moment before jerking her mind into gear and waving her hand as she smiled hastily.

"No, no I'm well. Do not fret over me," She laughed nervously as Alice continued to look at her strangely. "I'm just dwelling on thoughts, that's all."

Alice pursed her lips and sat back against the seat but continued to look over Beatrix with a searching eye.

"What is it Alice?" Beatrix asked uncomfortably, fidgeting with the heavy embroidered fabric of her bodice and trying to avoid her friend's scrupulous gaze.

They stayed like that for a good while longer; Beatrice staring indifferently out of the window as the sky greyed with each larger town they passed and Alice scrutinising her carefully. After a while Beatrix had had enough and she turned to Alice suddenly.

"Will you stop it!" She cried, throwing her hands up for added effect and simmering angrily as Alice's face lit up and she edged forward in her seat.

It was definitely not the reaction Beatrix had been expecting as Alice had always been tender-hearted and known to takes things personally. Her friend's curious smile worried Beatrix and she frowned hard at her as Alice's fingers brushed just below her jaw.

"Who?" She urged excitedly, drawing back to look at Beatrix's bewildered frown.

"Alice, what ever are you talking about?"

Alice sighed and rolled her eyes before slowly and carefully explaining the slight mark on the underside of Beatrix's throat. Her smile faltered a little when she saw the horror-stricken look on Beatrix's face as the dark-haired girl's fingers traced the small rash on her smooth skin.

"Who was it Beatrix?" She asked slightly urgently now, wondering whether whoever it was had harmed her or forced her into doing something.

"Tristan." Replied Beatrix faintly, staring strangely at Alice's rage-stricken face before comprehension dawned and she shook her head fiercely and placed her hands over Alice's. "Not like that Alice dear. It…gosh, it was mutual."

Instead of the shocked, disgusted or pitying face that Beatrix expected from Alice then, her young friend simply smiled knowingly and squeezed Beatrix's hands.

"Forgive me I jumped to conclusions again. Well you weren't the only one… fraternizing shall we say." Confessed Alice in a mumble, a blush spreading fast up her cheeks and for a moment Beatrix forgot all about her own problems.

"What happened between you and Lancelot then?"

Alice gasped, her cheeks flaming behind her long blonde hair now. "How did you know?"

Beatrix shook her head shrewdly and eventually coaxed the whole story out of Alice. They both were shaking with laughter by the end of it and spent the rest of the wearisome rickety journey watching the sprawling countryside gradually turn into idyllic villages and then to bustling towns from the safety of their lavish coach. They made idle chatter to while away the hours and keep them both preoccupied so they couldn't dwell on more weighty thoughts.

Alice watched her friend with growing concern as she seemed to be toy with her bracelet in every free second; a sure sign that she was upset or worried. The blonde tried to make light conversation and tease her companion but it seemed the closer they got to London, the less responsive Beatrix became. Eventually Alice could only watch as Beatrix distanced herself from everything, the night drawing in gradually around the procession of people and leaving the two friends in a deafening silence only interrupted by the addition of cobblestones under the wheels and flickering lanterns that lined the streets as flashed by the carriage windows.

Beatrix could feel the fear and isolation building rapidly inside her as she sensed that they were growing ever closer to her final destination where she would no longer have the safety of these gracious horsemen by her side, and instead would be vulnerable to every of Sir Henry's whims. Tilting her head a little to see past her curtain of dark curls she forced the tears back as she watched the large, prominent buildings slowly drift past and the lanterns that warmed the streets and darkened the shadows.

Tristan glanced around him at the quiet streets of Westminster with vague disdain and contempt. He could not stand the feeling of being fenced in somewhere; especially with so many filthy people and such disease around. He spurred his horse forward a little as Arthur called him to the front; saving a glance at the coach as he trotted past it.

"We shall be arriving soon at the Fielding residence. I wish for you to warn the women and to know that we shall be staying the night as Sir Henry has kindly opened his home to us." Arthur told him amiably, a sense of pride installed within his voice as he gazed around at the prestigious buildings that he had loved so much as a child.

Tristan nodded, as was his custom, before turning his horse back and riding up alongside the carriage. He knocked briefly on the window, inhaling deeply as Alice fumbled to open the overly-stiff lock.

"Can I help you sir?" She asked kindly, smiling at the mysterious horseman who inclined his head to her in greeting before looking past her at the still figure of Beatrix.

"We are in Westminster. We arrive soon." He spoke curtly, watching Beatrix intently the whole time and looking for any sign of emotion from the girl.

She didn't move, let alone speak, until he had bade them goodbye and Alice had shut the window with a definite snap.

"Lord help me." Whimpered Beatrix, ignoring the tears that rolled freely down her cheeks as she stared out of the window and tried to hold onto any sense of hope she had.

Her worst fear was coming true and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

_A/N: Ah! I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to update and that I haven't had chance to reply to all your lovely reviews! The past few days have just been a bit hectic, but you all have my deepest apologies! Well I had to get in a bit more romantic/fun with everyone; albeit using rather silly ways but -sigh- what can ya do? lol. The Beatrix/Tristan scene was a lot worse (Believe me!) until I started whining on at my good friend Hussy (ridiculous nickname only lol) and she gave me the cupboard scenario. And we will, oh yes, eventually meet Sir Henry Fielding in the next chapter! Hoorah! So let's see how that pans out, and how everyone will react to this joyous...-ahem- occasion...Happy New Year everyone! Thanks for reading and sending me amazing reviews that I haven't replied to! Naughty author -smacks wrist- lol xx_


	8. Chapter 8

"Sir Fielding, they have arrived." A tentative voice called out into the dimly lit room.

Henry turned around, disturbed from his daydream, and thanked the maid as she curtsied and scurried back out. Henry cleared his throat as he walked over to the mirror; straightening his jacket and billowing collar of his shirt before meddling with his handsome blonde waves and making himself presentable.

The sounds of horses and carriage wheels outside drew him to the window and he watched suspiciously as the horsemen dismounted and the coach door was opened. A small hand peeked out and grasped that of a handsome horseman and the lady stepped out afterward. Henry frowned and growled deep in his throat as he spied upon her long flaxen hair; this was not Miss Clarke! He was about to storm out when he noticed another lady being ushered from the coach, one with dark curls piled neatly upon her head and an exquisite dress to match that gave her the appearance of a delicate temptress beneath all the layers of heavy, embroidered fabric and petticoats.

"Beatrix." Whispered Henry, letting the word roll off his tongue in something akin to a hiss as a sly grin spread across his face.

* * *

Beatrix swallowed and tried to control her shaking hands as the men began to make their way towards the small flight of grand steps that led to the impressive building; The Fielding Residence. She felt Tristan approach from her left and watched him bow to her before graciously taking her arm and leading her to follow the others.

"You're shaking." He noticed quietly, glancing around indifferently at the music and chatter erupting from the house.

Beatrix didn't reply, but instead ducked her head and watched her slippered feet as they ascended the stone stairs. They reached the entrance, the last out of everybody and Beatrix stopped Tristan in the doorway with her hand. The torches flickered on either side of the doorway and the firelight licked up the walls; casting shadows frolicking across the doorway. He turned his head curiously to look at her as she gripped his arm tightly and looked upon him with pleading eyes.

"Help me." She whispered, only for a loud voice to boom through the bustling hallway and her head to jerk to see who she presumed to be Sir Henry stood at the bottom of a grand staircase; his arms outstretched and a happy smile on his face.

"Mr Castus! It is a pleasure, no, an honour to have you in my home!" Henry exclaimed pleasantly, shaking hands courteously with Arthur who bowed his head in quiet gratitude and thanked the younger man for welcoming them all so.

Henry smiled and patted Arthur's arm before turning his head slightly to catch view of Beatrix.

"Miss Clarke. You look simply…. delightful." He murmured, bowing low and planting a soft kiss on her hand; never removing his eyes from her's.

Tristan could feel her hand tighten painfully on his arm as Sir Henry bowed before her and she was shaking violently. He moved ever so slightly closer to her in a gesture of protection and Beatrix mustered enough courage and prowess to smile; albeit a little strained as she extracted her hand from Henry's.

"Thank you Sir Fielding. It is a pleasure to be here." Beatrix replied carefully, almost retching on her own words as he straightened and gave her a slow, appraising look.

His smile faltered momentarily and she inhaled sharply as his amber eyes flashed dangerously before returning to that of the respectable host almost immediately.

"Your head…I hope you are not hurt?" He ground out; his teeth gritted and with fake pleasantry.

Beatrix could hear the sharp tone in his voice and gingerly touched the healing cut on her forehead before shaking her head and looking to the floor.

"No Sir Fielding. Simply an accident with a horse." She muttered quietly before raising her head to smile at him sweetly.

Henry laughed and clapped his hands together; any trace of malice forgotten and he led the others through the crowd of guests and into the drawing room. Tristan made as if to move from Beatrix but she clutched at him tightly and dived in front of him.

"Please," She begged, her voice no louder than a whisper but her words and eyes full of intensity and fear. "Please, don't leave me!"

Tristan stared at her silently for a moment.

"But you are to be a married woman, it would not look right-"

"You can be my chaperone. It is only right for a young woman to have a chaperone." She argued and the insistent beseeching tone of her voice struck something in Tristan and he nodded before taking her arm and slowly walking with her to follow the others.

"Why are you so afraid of him?" Tristan murmured quietly, glaring defiantly ahead as they weaved through the crowd and Beatrix glanced this way and that, smiling at everyone who recognized her to be Sir Henry's bride-to-be.

"He is not genuine. He is not the gentleman he makes out to be. There is something evil about that man." She mumbled lowly so that only he could hear her words as she smiled sweetly through gritted teeth at all of the guests when her mind was screaming at her to run.

"We will be here to protect you tonight." Tristan announced quietly; his voice determined and growling.

Beatrix stopped him again as they reached the drawing room door and she turned to face him. There was such gratitude and fear, desperation and longing in her midnight eyes that Tristan had to restrain himself from reaching out and taking her within his arms in an attempt to soothe away all her worries.

"Thank you Tristan. I will not forget this."

* * *

Guests milled around the luxurious household; talking, laughing, indulging in gossip and Beatrix found herself staring distastefully at Sir Henry as he conversed warmly with the high-society company and made them laugh uproariously at his anecdotes and various stories.

"It was all I could do to keep a straight face!" He cried, wiping his eyes as he laughed along with some of his guests, before turning his head slightly to the left and catching sight of Beatrix. "Excuse me, please." He told his present company politely and began weaving his way through the crowd towards the now unchaperoned young woman.

"Beatrix." He purred from behind her and she stiffened instantly; her eyes darting around searching for Tristan who had left to relieve himself, or in fact any of the others who had escorted her here.

Finding herself at a loss, Beatrix clenched her fists and bit her lip before turning around to face Sir Henry with a delicate smile.

"Good evening Sir Henry." She replied lightly, suppressing her urge to push him away from her and run towards the welcoming night outside the front door.

Sir Henry smiled charismatically, looking Beatrix openly up and down from beneath heavy-lidded eyes filled with lust. Beatrix restrained herself from snarling at him and instead pierced him with her eyes, at which point he cleared his throat when he met her contemptuous gaze.

"I was wondering whether you would like a tour of the house, after all you are to be living here soon." He said casually, presenting her with his arm and an enticing smile.

Beatrix stared at his arm for a moment; her face neutral but her eyes speaking her ultimate disgust. Fortunately, Sir Henry was far too busy staring candidly at the top of her corset to notice her repulsion and so with a forced smile Beatrix placed her dainty arm onto his and let him lead the way.

"That is the doorway to the back stairwell – but don't worry; only the servants use that. This is the gallery that we are walking through at the moment. As you can see many generations of my family have lived in this house." Henry explained loftily, making sweeping gestures towards the expanse of portraits lining the walls.

Beatrix regarded them with interest and a certain amount of fear as they watched her from their high perches with their dead, seeing eyes. She could feel them boring into her with such an overwhelming ferocity that she hardly noticed when Henry stopped her in the faintly lit gallery; the torches casting shadows around the long room and creating an impressive sense of power around the towering Sir Henry.

Beatrix looked up at him uncertainly as he leaned towards her with that same malicious glint that she had seen in his eyes earlier. He started to reach out a hand towards her and Beatrix instantly stiffened, her breath hitching as she watched his hand drifting towards her with impossible gracious foreboding.

"And this-"He breathed sensually into the air, his hand still drifting ever closer towards Beatrix's exposed shoulder. "Is the bedchamber."

Beatrix blinked in surprise as his hand connected with smooth, dark oak behind her, completely bypassing her shoulder. She turned her head to follow his wily smirk and nodded wordlessly at the door. Henry's smile slowly grew wider, spreading across his face to bare his gleaming teeth and he leaned in towards Beatrix who had yet to turn her head back round to look at him. Feeling the warm breath hitting the side of her face Beatrix swivelled her head back round only to find Sir Henry's charming face mere inches from her's. She swallowed as he leant towards her, brining his hand up to toy with a curl that had fallen down to rest upon her exposed collarbone.

"Perhaps," He whispered enticingly, his voice a low murmur in the thundering of blood that filled Beatrix' ears, his lucid blue eyes trained intently on her lips. "I could show you it, as I'm sure you're very tired from your, ahem, journey."

Beatrix attempted to push herself backwards as far as possible into the unyielding hardness of the oak panelled wall as Henry bent closer still; his breath ghosting over her pouting lips now and his golden hair falling charmingly across his forehead.

Beatrix braced herself for what was about to happen, but a cough interrupted the scene and Sir Henry straightened instantly as Beatrix's head whipped to the left with wide, startled eyes that fell upon the lone figure of Tristan some way away down the gallery.

A flash of anger flared up in Henry's eyes before he repressed it with elegant control and brushed off his jacket and waistcoat, turning to Tristan and piercing him with a cold, questioning stare. Tristan did not react, but continued glaring almost, Beatrix observed bemusedly, at Sir Henry with his usual impassive expression.

"Well? What is it you wanted?" Henry asked with an ounce of annoyance at the aloofness of the silent man standing before him.

Tristan smirked inwardly at the man's sense of self-righteousness and fixed him with a grim stare.

"I was sent to find Miss Clarke as Mr Castus wishes her to grace our company with her presence, if she does so wish." Tristan told him calmly, although his blood was boiling with the images of what he had walked on in. How dare that excuse of a man try and force himself upon such a beautiful creature as that! Tristan paused in his thoughts and wondered if he had done exactly the same thing only that morning…but hadn't she reciprocated those desires on some level? Tristan scolded himself for such trivial thoughts and went back to the situation at hand.

Henry cursed beneath his breath and fisted his hands as Beatrix watched with growing apprehension from the sidelines, listening to her own breathing in the now deafening silence.

"Thank you very much for the message Mr Thoreau, won't you accompany me back to Mr Castus?" Beatrix asked innocently, stepping forward in the cavernous gallery and sauntering gracefully over towards Tristan.

She could feel Sir Henry's eyes boring into her back but she ignored them and focused all her energies on reaching the safety of Tristan. He was not surprised by the fact that she went so willingly to him, but overwhelmed by the need to protect her, and so with one final cold glare at the bristling figure of Sir Henry Tristan took Beatrix's hand and led her out of the gallery.

Once back into the quiet corridors of the grand house, Tristan glanced from the corner of his eye at Beatrix. She was walking perfectly fine; her head up, posture strong and face calm, and Tristan made no move to stop her and so they carried on in the questioning silence they were in. It was only once they had neared the end of the second galleried corridor that lead to the grand staircase, that Beatrix stopped Tristan with a gentle hand on his chest. He turned his head to look at her curiously from behind his long hair; his deep, dark eyes gazing freely into her lucid ones, and she smiled slightly before opening her mouth to say something until a warm finger on her lips stopped her. Tristan gently shook his head and instead offered her his arm again, which she took gladly and let him lead her back down to the ballroom.

* * *

A few hours later, after the torches and candles began to fail and all the guests had left, found Sir Henry, Arthur and his men, Alice and Beatrix all in the confines of the drawing room once again. They had spent the last hour or so talking jovially amongst themselves; the men drinking brandy as the women sipped wine, and Sir Henry watching Beatrix steadily as she tried to act casually.

"Well," Lancelot yawned, stretching his back a little from the comforting enclosure of the cushioned armchair. "Tis getting late, and I for one could do with some sleep."

"Of course! Here let me fetch one of the maids who shall show you to your bedchambers." Sir Henry exclaimed, pulling upon a small tassel of fabric just to the right of his chair near the bookcase. A bell rang somewhere in the house and a few moments later a small, mousy maid came scurrying into the room; curtsying to its occupants, before facing Sir Henry.

"There you are Jane. Please show Mr Castus and his men to their chambers, and make sure there is hot water in the baths for them when they arrive."

Jane smiled meekly and curtsied once again to her master before turning and waiting for the other men to rise and start towards the door. She kept her head bowed the whole time in a sign of submission and Beatrix watched with growing trepidation and resentment as she thought more and more about how that could be her within a few days; constantly bowing down to that obstinate man's authority, simply because he was just that: a man!

Tristan cast Beatrix a glance as he moved from the room, the last of the men to do so, and he frowned inwardly as he passed to see the glaze that had come over her eyes as she sat in her chair. She would have seen the flicker of something in his dark eyes as he moved past her if she had looked up, but instead she had missed the chance and had not even acknowledged the exit of the men until the door clicked shut and she was left alone with Sir Henry. He swirled the brandy round in his glass as he sat illuminated by the fire in his high-back armchair, watching with a smug grin as Beatrix came back to herself and looked around the room in belated observation.

"Alice has taken her leave too?" She asked in confusion at the disappearance of her friend, and Sir Henry nodded but still with the same smirk on his distinguished face.

Beatrix's hopes vanished and she stared blankly into the fire as Sir Henry downed the last dregs of the warming brandy. He sighed in impatience as he set down his goblet, running a hand across his face as Beatrix watched him with hidden apprehension.

"I think it time we retire." He announced after a moment of silence; only broken with the crackling from the fireplace, and Beatrix nodded reluctantly.

She hardly noticed where they were walking as Sir Henry led her from the drawing room, and out into the shadowy darkness of the house as it prepared for sleep. She had more important things to think of, like; how she was going to get out of this, or how long it would take before this pig in front of her slowly killed her inside, or….where was the comforting safety Beatrix had come to know as Tristan? It was this last thought that shocked her out of her daydreams, but by that stage Sir Henry was already leading her into their bedroom. She watched in silent despair as Sir Henry started to close the door behind him. However, as the door was swinging shut Beatrix watched in slow motion as a male figure walked past in the darkened corridor, his right hand holding up four fingers to her, before all of a sudden time corrected itself and the man was gone as the door clicked shut. Beatrix shook her head with a strange expression and looked dumbly at the door until Sir Henry's hand on her cheek made her jump backwards in shock. His haughty laughter filled the room as she stared uncertainly at him, finally residing into a smug smile as he looked knowingly at her before waltzing across towards a cabinet on the other side of the spacious room.

"If you're going to jump in such a manner all night then perhaps it should be you drinking this rather than I. I hear it has quite the calming effect." He joked loftily, producing another brandy decanter from the cabinet and waving it towards her.

Beatrix wrinkled her nose in disgust so Sir Henry simply shrugged and poured himself another glass. He groaned as he rolled his shoulders, flopping down into one of the armchairs facing the cavernous fireplace and staring darkly into its depths. Beatrix hovered uncertainly near the decorative four-poster bed; tracing its polished carved wood with a slender finger as she thought back to the mysterious figure outside. There was not really any distinguishing feature about the shadow, apart from its build which was most definitely a man, and so Beatrix fell to thinking about the meaning of the four fingers shown to her. Was it some kind of a sign? But four could mean anything surely…Beatrix frowned at her lack of creativity and continued in studying the magnificent work of the wood; her attention distracted for the time being.

Sir Henry moved his attention back to the form of Beatrix as she stood admiring the intricate detailing of the bedpost, and a heat stirred within him as he watched her; undeniable lust. He downed the last of his brandy, his eyes skimming wildly over her rounded bosom, down the decorated fabric of the dress before darting back up to her delightful face and silky dark curls. Emboldened, not that he wasn't already, by the encouraging effects of the brandy Sir Henry moved towards Beatrix; picking up the brandy decanter as he went, with a mission in mind.

It was the heavy footsteps behind her and the stale stench of alcohol wafting across her neck that alerted Beatrix as to Sir Henry's appearance. She steeled herself before turning around slowly and seeing the purposeful lust-filled look that was burning within Sir Henry's eyes. She noticed the half-empty brandy decanter grasped tightly within his hand and glanced back to the intent-filled expression on his face.

"Do you not think you have had enough brandy this evening, Sir Henry?" Beatrix suggested tentatively, but she was cut short by the enraged look on his face.

"I'll decide when I've had enough, not you!" He bellowed, drinking greedily from the decanter before throwing it onto the floor; the glass smashing and brandy spilling everywhere across the wooden floorboards.

Beatrix jumped at the violent action and backed up against the edge of the bed as Sir Henry advanced towards her. At any other time, Beatrix might have been able to see Sir Henry's appeal; he oozed charisma, he was polite, wealthy, powerful and not to mention extremely handsome, but right at this moment Beatrix could see nothing of those and instead only his cruel, ugly soul was bared before her in his malicious eyes and smug sneer as he grabbed her and pushed her backwards onto the bed.

"And do you not think it's time you performed some wifely duties?" Mocked Sir Henry; mimicking Beatrix's earlier question, and chuckling deep in his throat and her startled expression as he leant over her.

The implication sunk into Beatrix like a bullet would the skin, and her mouth opened in silent protest as Sir Henry leered drunkenly over her; his stale breath tainted with alcohol fogging up her senses and making her feel physically ill.

"But we are not yet married!" Gasped Beatrix as she struggled to push herself backwards up the bed away from him. "It would be wrong!"

Sir Henry only laughed dryly and yanked Beatrix back down towards him by her legs, ignoring her distressed squeak, and bending down over her menacingly; his hand going to the fabric of her skirt.

"Well who exactly are you going to tell? Your precious protector is going away tomorrow and we are to be wed soon so it would matter not." Scorned Sir Henry with a wicked grin, bracing his arms either side of her head and leaning down towards her.

Beatrix froze as he lowered himself down towards her. Her eyes flitted wildly around her surroundings in some attempt to find a distraction or fend him off somehow. She knew screaming would be of no help, as no-one had yet been stirred by the loud shattering of the brandy decanter and so decided not to antagonise him further in his drunken state. Her eyes chanced upon one of the hefty candlesticks placed neatly in a small alcove carved out of the thick wood of the bedposts. She glanced back to the lecherous man leaning over her, drawing ever closer by the second, and before she had fully decided upon a plan of action her hand was already reaching up to attempt to grab the candlestick. Time seemed to tick eternally slowly as Beatrix watched the already short distance between herself and Sir Henry being closed, her hand flailing wildly in the air searching endlessly for the cool metal of the candlestick, her wide, fearful eyes focused directly on the power-filled, hungry eyes of Sir Henry.

Her deft fingers slid over the metal…once…twice…until the third time when she finally got a reasonable hold of the gilded cylinder. In that fleeting second Beatrix felt the pressure of Sir Henry's lips coming into contact with her's, before she brought the candlestick down hard on the side of Sir Henry's head. There wasn't time for him to react and block such a blow, and with only a pained grunt Sir Henry fell to the side and hit the floor with a dull thud.

The candlestick was still clutched tightly in Beatrix's fist when she pushed herself off the bed; replacing the smooth metal cylinder in its small alcove and staring down at the crumpled figure of Sir Henry with a troubled expression. She could tell he was still alive from the way his chest still rose and fell under the fire light and some of her anxiety quietened a little inside her as she bent down and carefully pulled him into a sitting position so that she could examine the back of his head. There was no blood which was another relief as it gave her time to think of a suitable alibi, and so Beatrix spent the next few minutes carefully dragging Sir Henry over to the side of the bed, hefting him inside it with some difficulty and holding her breath every time she thought he might rouse.

It was only once she had escaped into the comforting darkness of the hallway that Beatrix let out the breath she wasn't sure she'd been holding. What could she do now? She had no idea where Alice was or any of the others for that matter, and there was no possible way she could return to Sir Henry's side; Beatrix thought miserably as she leant backwards against the door of the bedroom and fought to quell the sobs that threatened to escape the tight confines of her chest. Standing in a heavy silence, her head hung in despair, Beatrix could feel the accusing eyes of the portraits around her boring into her and whispering her deepest, darkest secrets into the suffocating stillness of the gallery. As Beatrix grew weary of their games and threw her head up to glare furiously at the portrait directly in front of her, the image of the figure from outside the door flashed back into her mind. Four fingers….right hand…but what could that mean! Beatrix made a small noise of frustration in the back of her throat and looked down the extensive gallery towards the large window at the end; moonlight pouring through its stained glass and casting patterns across the floor. She began walking slowly down towards it, glancing carefully at any of the doorways she passed and listening to see if anyone stirred from behind them.

A bright flash of white caught her eye as she crept past one of the large oak doors that neared the end of the gallery. Beatrix frowned as she considered the object hanging from the door handle and tiptoed closer to it for a better look. Slender fingers brushed against the velvety texture of the fabric, and Beatrix's eyes sparkled in wonder as she grasped the shawl from the door handle and held it against her cheek; revelling in its familiar comfort. After a few moments of soothing Beatrix returned to her senses and studied the door warily. She searched down the corridor for any sign of something suspect; counting the number of doors she was away from Sir Henry's chamber.

"Four…" Whispered Beatrix, quickly turning and finding herself on the right hand side of the gallery. "Four doors down…right hand side. That's what the person meant!"

Encouraged with this realisation, Beatrix steeled herself and knocked tentatively on the solid oak of the door. Almost instantly the door creaked open smoothly and Beatrix found herself face to face with Tristan. Her mouth hung open slightly in silent surprise as she attempted to work the situation out in her bemused state, but Tristan simply ushered her inside the darkened room with a gentle tug on her shoulder; checking the corridor was empty before shutting the door as quietly as possible.

"So it was you outside earlier." Beatrix whispered almost straight away, seeming to have pieced everything together as Tristan moved back into the room.

He stoked the crackling embers of the fire silently, smiling dimly to himself at Beatrix's ability to interpret even his mysterious meanings, before turning back to face her and looking over her appraisingly. She was illuminated perfectly by the firelight from in front of her and the moonlight from behind her; her delicate curls framing her face perfectly from their perch atop her head, her graceful figure simply elegant by just standing there, her face just as she pictured it in his thoughts of her. But his small smile slipped as he looked over her slightly flushed cheeks and the darkening glimmer in her eyes which had not been there before. He realised it must have something to do with the reason in which she had had to seek him out; it could be nothing good.

Moving slowly towards her, Tristan caught her chin between his finger and thumb and raised it gently so that she was looking into his questioning, dark eyes.

"I hit him with a candlestick…he was drunk." Beatrix explained, understanding the silent question he posed in his tender eyes. "He was not injured though, simply unconscious so I put him to bed and left."

She decided to leave out any mention of Sir Henry's attempt at forcing himself upon her as she didn't think it would be wise to tell Tristan such things, after all he was renowned for his often deadly way of settling scores.

Tristan nodded and gathered Beatrix into his arms in a reassuring embrace. They stayed like that for a small while; Tristan glad to have her safely in his reach, Beatrix glad to have Tristan bestow such a caring and protective gesture upon her. 'Sir Henry had been right about one thing' she thought contentedly to herself 'Tristan definitely is my protector.'

* * *

_A/N: Yes this author is still very much alive and well - a shock to you all I know lol. _

_I'm truly sorry for leaving you all so long - on such a cliffhanger as well, but so much has been happening lately and inspiration and time has been lacking. This chapter has had bits added to it briefly over the months (months!) but it has really only been over the past few days that I've made any headway with it as its now the Easter holidays. I'm still not sure if I like it how it is atm but I tried to make it a tad longer then first planned due to my lengthy absence, and I will hopefully write some more over the next 2 weeks! _

_Well so what do we all think? Is Tristan a bit too mushy, Beatrix a bit too girly, and Sir Henry a bit too 'your-typical-drunk-attempted rapist-villain'? lol. Please tell me what you think as I love hearing your comments and I never did get back to any of my reviewers -eek! Sorry! I will make an effort this time I promise, rather than reading them, getting insanely happy and then putting off replying tothem for 'when I have more time'lol. So if you are still reading this: Wow you're committed! lol and thanks for taking the time and effort to bother with me lol. _

_Rach xx_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Warning! Slush, fluff and wallowing in self-pity by the bucket load in this chapter! Read at your own risk as author can take no liability for crying/laughing yourself to death if you're evil and find all this funny -scowls- lol. _

* * *

Tristan kept his breathing shallow and steady as he watched Beatrix sleep mere inches from his side; her delicate face now free from any of her previous troubles and her soft brown waves strewn about her on the pillow.

He had been sat in a chair by the dying fireplace, letting Beatrix take the bed as he sat and dwelled on his thoughts. After a small while though, he had heard a small voice from the cavernous bed beckoning him to it. He had sat for a moment longer in contemplative silence; his silhouette outlined perfectly in the dying embers of the fire, until Beatrix had called him once more and he had given into his temptation. She had been sat sorrowfully in the vast expanse of bedcovers; bidding him to sleep, or at least rest, in some comfort rather than the armchair. He'd regarded her a moment or two from behind his tousled locks, before silently removing his shirt and sliding between the sheets next to her.

Now he sat listening to her peaceful breathing and thinking about the affect this woman was having upon him. He had never been with someone who held his interest for long, and many were unnerved by his silent intensity, and yet here he found himself sitting next to a woman who felt comfortable in his presence; perhaps even saw him as a haven of safety. And the beauty she possessed – not just in her appearance but in her soul, was like nothing he had ever witnessed before. She roused feelings in him he never knew he even had. He enjoyed his job; the rush of adrenaline he experienced when his pistol or sword found its' mark, but now he was protecting a life and the surge of indescribable power was much more rewarding.

Tristan let his head rest back against the cushioned headboard; where he sat propped up against a pillow, the bedclothes pooled around his middle. He sighed quietly to himself and stilled as Beatrix shifted closer to him in her sleep. She was now nestled into his side, a slender hand splayed across his taut stomach, and her dark waves cascading down his bare chest on which her head rested. Tristan relaxed after an additional moment or two and gently wrapped his arm around her lithe body.

"Tristan…" Mumbled a sleepy voice and the dark-haired man almost started in surprise since he had been so deep in his thoughts.

"Yes?"

Beatrix smiled lightly from her place against his chest; revelling in the gravely, sensuous timbre to his voice and listening intently to his rhythmic heartbeat.

"This morning…" She began hesitantly, hearing her soft, cautious whisper in the near silence.

Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but found a gentle finger pressed to his lips as she swiftly swung her leg over his, righting herself in the process so that she ended in a sitting position in his lap. Tristan was thankful for the extra barrier of his breeches between him and the warm skin of Beatrix's thighs that her shift failed to cover.

He swiftly returned his attention to her face, lest his thoughts should start wandering elsewhere; her hazy indigo eyes holding his gaze steadily. Once she was satisfied he would not speak again, Beatrix lowered her finger from his lips and relaxed as Tristan rested his head back against the headboard once more, simply watching her silently; his interest piqued.

"This morning, when I said…when I said I could not continue such notions with you, it was not because I did not return your feelings. No, it was not that at all," Beatrix told him quietly, her head bowed as she concentrated on fiddling with her bracelet; a sure sign she was anxious or agitated. "I simply could not let it continue as I wanted to see for myself who this Sir Henry really was…" She raised her head to look Tristan directly in the eye then; leaving "and nothing could ever come of it anyway as you're leaving tomorrow…forever" ringing silently in their ears.

Tristan's face was soft and his eyes understanding, if not reluctant, as he listened to her. However, the fact that she had not rejected him streaked vividly through his mind, and so letting his instincts guide him he leaned forward slowly and captured Beatrix's lips with his own. Her previous hesitant expression melted instantly and she returned his tender kiss with equal care and hidden passion.

Moving his hands to her hips, he clasped them gently and twisted his body so that she was lowered back onto the bed. Tenderly breaking the kiss he smiled softly at Beatrix's softly sparkling eyes, rose-tinged cheeks and pouting lips.

"Sleep now." He told her quietly, watching as she fought between her desire for the feel of his lips on her's again and the need for sleep. Finally she nodded grudgingly and nuzzled herself snugly into his side. Tristan eased under her gentle ministration and traced a hand lightly up and down her spine before he too succumbed to sleep's welcoming embrace.

* * *

Dark brown eyes opened gradually as their owner awoke from a contented sleep, focusing on the purple light streaming through the window signalling the coming of dawn. Faint breathing drew the attention of the sorrowful, hawk-like eyes and Tristan simply watched Beatrix sleep for a few precious minutes; her face so innocent and tranquil in only the way sleep could bring.

"Beatrix…" He whispered gently, stroking down the length of her arm on which his hand rested. He was loathed to wake her but it was important if she was not to raise suspicion from Sir Henry. "Beatrix…"

A low murmur came from Beatrix and was almost instantly swallowed into the quietness of the room. She allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light before yawning and turning her sleepy eyes upon Tristan. He smiled sadly and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before Beatrix understood the meaning of her early awakening. She simply nodded and rose from the bed, padding quietly across the room and over to a chair in the corner where her dress was folded neatly upon it.

Tristan watched her from his position on the bed; propped up on one elbow. His eyes followed her around the room, memorising the fluid motion of her silky waves of hair, the way her slender frame moved gracefully as she walked, those tears in her eyes… Tristan frowned and swung himself swiftly out of the bed, making his way steadily over to the other side of the room. Beatrix's tearful gasp caught in her throat and she shuddered as Tristan ran his rough hands down her neck, shoulders and arms. She let her head roll back as he traced small circles on her palm, one hand moving up to brush the hair from her neck so he could plant soft, raspy kisses along the column of her throat.

Beatrix let out a shaky breath and leant back into his touch; her thoughts running wildly before melting into one single word as his lips met her's as he turned her: Tristan…This kiss was intense, passionate; so much different from the one they had shared the previous night. Beatrix gripped desperately to Tristan's broad shoulders making small half-moon shapes in his bare skin with her nails, as he pushed her back up against the wall. She moaned softly at the movement and pulled him closer to her so that there was hardly a breath of air between them.

A lack of breath forced them to break the kiss and both stood panting in the early morning quiet of the room. Resting his forehead against her's, Tristan stared deep into those infinite violet orbs. They lost themselves in each other's eyes for a small while, not moving, just lost in never-ending emptiness. Tristan could recognise the fear and anxiety in her eyes as well as a sense of loss. He looked harder though and found something he had not expected which made his heart skip a beat: love.

Finally Beatrix tore her eyes away from his and looked down at the floor; her dark eyelashes kissing the creamy skin of her cheeks as her eyes filled with tears again. Tristan understood this as a sign she should go and moved backwards so she could move away from the wall. Gathering her shawl from the chair, Beatrix moved towards the door. She paused and turned back; reaching out a shaking hand to brush her fingertips lightly over every inch of Tristan's face. He dared not close his eyes lest he should open them and find it to be some heartbreaking dream, and instead kept his eyes trained on Beatrix's anguished face. Finding her vision blurry so that those warm, dark eyes full of such want and emotion faded in and out of view, Beatrix withdrew her hand sharply and rushed out of the room; not looking back and leaving Tristan to stare after her.

* * *

Shutting the anti-chamber door behind her Beatrix leant against it; silent, angry sobs wracking her body as she tore at the fabric of her dress. Ripping it over her head, Beatrix plunged herself into the scalding hot tub of water waiting; probably poured by one of the maids, and let her tears mix with the scented water. 'Damn Sir Henry, damn him to the deepest depths of Hell!' Thought Beatrix furiously, not caring about her strict religious upbringing, and only concentrating on the hatred that coursed through her veins. Finally she had found someone she believed she could love; already did love, and yet it was being stolen from her as she got caught in the trap between her duty and family honour, and her own heart. Beatrix sighed dejectedly and hastily wiped at her face before slipping her head beneath the surface of the water and letting it flood her senses.

Most of her anger now dispersed, or at least suppressed, she stood staring at herself in the mirror. Indigo eyes full of woe stared back at her before glazing over into numbness. Beatrix let herself go numb along with them as she reached for a comb on the dresser and began running it through her damp, tangled waves.

What seemed like hours later filled with empty thoughts and the odd vibrantly painful image of Tristan; before it was harshly pushed from view, Beatrix appeared once again in front of the mirror. Her hair was fixed up upon her head, a new dress covered her lithe body; subconsciously she had chosen the most unrevealing dress as a barrier against Sir Henry, and her face was fresh after being splashed with cold water. No trace of previous tears could be found upon her face her blank eyes observed with empty satisfaction as she turned away from the mirror. This was how she would look for the rest of her life spent away from Tristan, Beatrix decided as she opened the door back into Sir Henry's extravagant bedchamber; empty, numb…lifeless.

The harsh scraping jangle of the drapes being pulled back and bright morning light assaulted Sir Henry's groggy senses. He groaned audibly and turned his head to face the window, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had not quite made it to opening his eyes yet thanks to a dull throbbing pain in the side of his head, and instead winced as he massaged the sore spot gingerly.

"Jane, do you have to be so bloody noisy in the morning?" He snapped irritably as his head still reverberated with the screeching sounds of the drapes.

"Oh, I am deeply sorry Sir Henry."

The blonde man's eyes snapped open as he recognised the voice not to be of Jane, but of Beatrix.

"Oh I apologise Beatrix. I thought it was one of the troublesome maids." He explained with a charming smile despite the pain in his head. His smile faltered though as memories of the previous night began to filter through into his muzzy brain piece by piece.

He frowned deeply, sitting up and stretching with a tired groan before swinging his legs out from underneath the bedclothes and sitting on the edge of the bed whilst massaging his head and neck. He blinked in confusion as he stared down at his breeches and shirt and jerked his head round to look at Beatrix with a puzzled frown fixed firmly upon his striking face.

"Beatrix, why am I dressed in such attire?" He asked in a mildly dubious fashion and pointed to his current state. Beatrix looked back from where she was opening one of the windows and looked at him blankly.

"I put you to bed but only undressed you a small amount as to what I deemed appropriate." She replied smoothly, carefully watching to gauge his reaction.

Sir Henry smirked to himself at the idea of her undressing him, before his face slid gradually into suspicion as he ran through the previous night in his head. He had drank a lot – he knew that much, but remembered everything vividly; leading Beatrix to the bedroom, smashing the brandy decanter, forcing Beatrix onto the bed, his overwhelming anger and need to claim her as his and his alone…and then his memory failed him.

"What exactly happened last night Beatrix?" He asked with cool precision even as his face betrayed him with an accusing glare, before standing and stalking into the anti-chamber. He could still hear Beatrix's voice carry from the other room as he splashed his face with cold water; leaning on the counter as he dabbed his face with a cloth.

"I am afraid to say you passed out Sir Henry. You had a rather…funny turn after all that brandy and then you simply collapsed; hitting your head on the floor in the process."

Sir Henry snorted to himself in disbelief as he looked himself over in the mirror; brushing a few strands of hair out of his face and checking his teeth. Another stab of fresh pain brought a moan from him and he clutched his head, reasoning to himself that he felt more like he had been hit with a blunt object than passed out.

"Are you alright Sir Henry?" Beatrix asked innocently as she appeared in the doorway, idly polishing a candlestick.

Sir Henry's gaze was fixated on the silver object for a moment as a grave feeling of unease crept over him; a deep frown setting in his forehead before he realised he was acting strangely and smiled uncertainly at Beatrix.

"Yes fine thank you Beatrix…" He replied pensively, shutting the door to the bedroom as she shrugged and wandered off.

Staring at himself again in the mirror Sir Henry pondered to himself the question; she couldn't have…could she?

Sir Henry reappeared a while later in the bedroom to find Beatrix talking shyly with one of the maids. He frowned as he adjusted his cravat in the mirror, trying to ignore the dull throb in his head that was slowly receding. Brushing his blonde waves back from his piercing amber eyes with care, he watched the maid scurry from the room in the mirror's reflection and Beatrix pause momentarily before walking slowly towards him. He ignored her whilst he straightened and fixed his waistcoat to his satisfaction, before turning and eyeing her with an air of superior authority.

"Sir Fielding, as you know my escorts are leaving today," She spoke slowly, her voice unwavering as he towered over her. "And I was wondering if my hand-maiden was to do the same since she had been brought here on the understanding she would serve under you."

Sir Henry smiled inwardly at her request but kept his icy façade in place.

"No, she will be leaving too." He told her simply and began to walk towards the door.

Beatrix froze in disbelief for a second before hurrying after him and blurting out small protests in indignation. Sir Henry ground his teeth together in irritation and stopped short, whirling around with anger flashing in his eyes which was enough to make any words die in Beatrix's mouth as she came to an abrupt standstill and could feel herself cowering slightly at the threat in Sir Henry's blazing eyes.

"Are you questioning my decision Beatrix?" He ground out in a dangerously low voice, advancing upon her.

Beatrix shook her head quickly, being careful to move backwards as he moved towards her. They stood in a tense silence for a moment; anger and threat in his eyes, fear and sorrow in her's.

"Good. Jane will do just as well as any other hand-maiden." Stated Sir Henry, flashing her a careless smile and starting for the door again.

Beatrix hung back a moment regaining her shivering thoughts as she stared blankly at the floor where Sir Henry had just stood. He turned as he opened the door and sighed exasperatedly at her frozen form.

"Come along Beatrix. It's time to bid farewell to your escorts."

Beatrix watched him walking out into the bright gallery and could have sworn he had said 'and your protector too…'.

* * *

The men were already gathered on the steps outside Sir Henry's grand house when the couple descended the stairs. Before Tristan had even turned he could feel the fear emanate from Beatrix, and the look of subservience on her face when he did look at her spoke volumes in his mind. Arthur and the rest looked up at the entrance of Sir Henry and Beatrix on the steps and Arthur walked up to greet them.

"Sir Fielding, Miss Clarke. All of my men and myself would like to bestow our congratulations upon your upcoming betrothal and wish you all the best in your matrimony." Arthur told them kindly, his eyes sparkling with a kind authority that his men had come to respect.

Sir Henry inclined his head gracefully and smiled benignly before shaking Arthur's hand and nodding to the rest of the men. The men all nodded back and smiled at Beatrix; though she could not bring herself to look at them lest it cause her to breakdown…especially not at Tristan. Arthur and Sir Henry began talking conversationally about business and such as Beatrix steeled herself for the life facing her.

Alice appeared in front of Beatrix from her place beside Lancelot and touched her arm lightly. Beatrix's head shot up in surprise and seeing her friend's innocent face, she hastily looked away with guilty eyes.

"I'm sorry Alice…there is no place for you in this household…" Beatrix told her sadly in a half-whisper, unable to meet her eyes and see the crest-fallen look she knew would be there.

"Oh." Breathed Alice in a disappointed whisper, and Beatrix flinched at the sadness in her voice.

Lancelot could see Alice's shoulders sag from his place with the other men, and so quietly excused himself from their small semi-circle on the wide London street. He climbed the small flight of polished stone steps and placed a large hand on Alice's shoulder; just managing to hear what Beatrix had said. He watched in anguish as Alice's face crumpled, and squeezed her shoulder in a way of lending her his support.

"You can stay with me Alice." He told her softly, smiling gently at her tearful gasp and seeing Beatrix's head jerk up at the sound of his voice as she realised he was there. She staggered back away from him slightly before seeming to focus on him and a flash of recognition crossed her eyes as she calmed, but looked away. Lancelot frowned but shrugged it off and turned his attention back to the astonished Alice gripping tightly to his hand.

"But…but we cannot! It would not be proper for us to live together if we were not betrothed." She replied breathlessly.

An idea sprang into Lancelot's mind and a wide grin spread across his face as he looked down at Alice's flustered face.

"Then let's do it." He said simply.

"Do what?" A look of dawning realisation passed across Alice's features and she looked at him with wide-eyed disbelief. "Oh Lancelot you cannot mean it!"

Lancelot's boyish grin simply grew wider at her ruffled countenance and he bent down on one knee before her while she stared at him in unabashed horror.

"Alice…will you be my wife?" He asked her calmly, holding onto her slender hand as he looked up at her with all the expectance of a child.

Alice could do nothing more than open and close her mouth like some goldfish in a bowl as she stared down at him; his carefree beaming smile blinding her with its open honesty.

"I have never been more serious in all of my life Alice." And he hadn't, he could imagine perfectly in his mind the image of them sat comfortably in a small, idyllic garden somewhere. Birds singing merrily in the trees, the gurgle of a brook off to one side, and children's laughter from behind the rose bushes; not their children, but their grandchildren. For the womaniser that he was, Lancelot had dreams and Alice fit perfectly into his every one. "A yes will do." He teased, pleading in his gleaming eyes.

Beatrix watched the scene unfolding off to one side and could feel the hot sting of tears even as she fought against them. She was happy for her friend, no doubt, but she could not stand the sight of happiness when her only source was leaving. She could not bring herself to look up at Tristan, but once she heard Alice's gasped "Yes Lancelot!" Beatrix could not control her head from jerking up; only to come face to face with the man in question. She regretted it instantly and attempted to shuffle backwards out of his gaze, only to find herself trapped within a triangle; Sir Henry next to her, the happy couple on her other side and Tristan on the steps with the others. Beatrix restrained herself from breaking down there and then; feeling those dark, vigilant orbs watching her every move, and instead resolved herself to staring down blankly at the floor.

Tristan watched her carefully, a deep frown settling itself in his thoughts though his face stayed impassive as always. He raged angrily at himself as he saw her look for any escape; looking towards him last before her gaze fell to the floor. He was no longer that safety net he used to be for her. And why? Because instead of embracing the unknown dangers of love as Lancelot was with Alice, Tristan and Beatrix were running from them. Too much was at stake, both had accepted their fate instead of regaling against it and now it was too late.

The scout sighed and walked over to the now celebrating group of men. He smiled weakly at Lancelot and Alice before he shook his comrade's hand and bowed before the weeping Alice and kissed her daintily gloved hand. She smiled between her tears of happiness and gave him a strange look before her gaze darted over to Beatrix behind him. Tristan returned a puzzled stare and she simply shook her head curiously and squeezed his large hand; her face growing sombre for a brief moment before her attention was drawn elsewhere to accepting Dagonet's congratulations. Tristan spared his friend a tight smile, which was returned with a concerned look, before the scout strode off to the group of horses gathered on the quiet street.

Arthur, upon seeing his men were ready at the mounting of Tristan upon his horse, bid his final farewells to Sir Henry and his soon-to-be bride, and in return had many thanks bestowed upon him by Sir Henry as Beatrix refused to meet his eye or speak. Beatrix nearly choked when she bid Alice and Lancelot congratulations as they began their descent down the steps. Alice merely waved in her typical naïve fashion and Beatrix attempted a small smile as she fought to keep her emotions in check and suppress a shudder as Sir Henry slipped a strong arm around her waist and watched the men mount their horses.

"Up you go." Soothed Lancelot as he lifted Alice up onto his stallion and climbed up behind her.

She calmed as she felt his familiar sturdy grip around her waist, assuring her he would not let her fall even as she was sitting side-saddle. Tossing a stray blonde curl from her face, Alice smiled up at Beatrix stood like a statue on the steps; her smile faltered as she saw the stony expression engraved on her friend's face. Beatrix was every bit the lifeless statue she appeared to be and Alice could do no more than gaze helplessly at her as the procession of horses started down the street.

Beatrix stared straight-ahead, not returning the men's smiles and waves as they passed on the dusty street. Any sense of hope she had faded as each horse and rider passed her, and her breath finally stopped dead in her throat as the last rider past. There he was, sat proud on his horse, looking every bit the noble warrior he was…and yet he was leaving his damsel in distress. She was torn. Torn between flying down the steps and into his arms, or screaming obscenities at him for even thinking of leaving her in such a manner. Beatrix controlled herself though and willed herself to hold his gaze as he walked past on his horse.

Sir Henry seemed not to notice the bristling edge that the air had just acquired as the fiery, heated looks were exchanged between the woman and rider. There was no need for words as their eyes spoke enough. 'Come with me' called Tristan's, while Beatrix's protested 'How can I? Not now…too much is expected of me, we would both be ruined!' but still cried out 'Don't leave me! I need you…I love you…'. They carried on the intense dialogue all the way till the end of the street, right until Tristan had turned the corner and there was nothing left. She would never forget his eyes in that last second before he was gone; warm, deep, pleading, those were the eyes that would haunt her forever.

Sir Henry sighed beside Beatrix, glad to be rid of his 'guests' and free to enjoy the spoils that married life would bring without the added disturbance of that ominous horseman.

"Well now that all that is over and done with, I do believe I have an appointment with the vicar to attend." Remarked Sir Henry with stiff formality and Beatrix found herself staring blankly at his moving lips but not listening to a word he was saying. There would never be any love in this marriage, not even the respect that many arranged marriages eventually formed over the years, she thought to herself. "So I shall leave you now Beatrix."

He leant forward to kiss her courteously, but she stiffened and turned her head as she realised what he was doing, leaving Sir Henry to kiss her upturned cheek. He could feel the anger rising like a wave inside of him at the impropriety of the young woman's actions. Quelling his desire to slap her across the face and teach her some manners, Sir Henry simply cleared his throat and strode off in the direction of the busy Westminster street.

Beatrix stood there blankly for a while; not doing or even thinking anything, just standing and staring at the polished stone beneath her feet. Gradually she gathered her thoughts and started slowly back into the grand house. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the large entrance hall and she ignored the bustling figures of the maids and footmen as they moved around the corridors and hallways. The fast familiar pricking of tears threatened her vision as she carefully climbed the stairs and quickened her pace so that she was hurrying down the corridor.

Slipping into the deserted gallery, Beatrix shut the door with cool composure before continuing in hurrying down the long room. She could feel the eyes of the portraits scrutinising her from their high and mighty perches, accusing her and mocking her as she gave up any resistance and let the tears fall as she began to run in a blind panicked-state down the gallery. Tristan had left her and now there was no turning back. Gone, done, and lost. She had to suffer the bane of Sir Henry now and everything he would attempt to reduce her to. Nothing was left in her life now except what was and had been….and what could never be; her and Tristan.

Bursting into the room she had spent the night in sleeping peacefully next to Tristan, Beatrix flung herself at the bed in a hysterical frenzy. Clawing at the coverlet on the bed, Beatrix fisted the luxurious fabric from her place heaped on the floor beside the bed. She screamed, shouted and bawled into the muffling fabric until there was nothing left in her; no passion, no tears and no spirit. Left as a bedraggled, quietly sobbing mess, Beatrix let go of the coverlet and slumped against the side of the bed. She rested her heavy head on the side as she fumbled around for her bracelet and undid the catch. Holding it in front of her weak grief-stricken eyes, Beatrix found the scratched initials she made so many years ago. Finding a suitable place nearby, Beatrix began etching the initials 'T.T.' into the silver metal with her nails. Her work became mechanical as she made small precise lines; grating her nails unthinkingly against the hard metal again and again. Once she was satisfied, she drooped back against the bed and let herself sag into a weeping mess on the floor.

Jane tilted her head slightly as she walked up the servants' staircase to the gallery. She was almost certain she could hear a strange noise somewhere upstairs, and so continued in making her way carefully up the steep steps; careful not to tip the tray she was carrying or trip on her dress. Edging her way carefully out of the heavy door and into the empty gallery, Jane deposited her heavily laden tray on a nearby table and wiped her hands on her apron. The strange noise was slightly louder now and seemed to rise and falls in uneven waves like the howl of the wind.

Softly picking her way along the gallery, Jane brushed her messy hair back into a bun and out of the way from her inquisitive green eyes. Glancing about every now and then, she progressed towards the end of the long room under the careful gaze of the portraits and following the distinct sound of crying. It had sounded like a child's wailing at first, but she now recognised it to be a woman weeping. Swallowing heavily, Jane stopped and glanced around her as the noise seemed to quiet, and upon seeing an open door to her right she wandered inside cautiously.

There seemed to be no-one in the room, but then she caught sight of a slippered foot peeking out from the end of the bed and instantly rushed around to the other side of the vast bed. Sure enough, she found her new lady slumped on the floor in a sorry state; eyes red and puffy from crying, telltale tears streaming down her face, her hair falling clumsily from it's intricate design and blood on the woman's hands. Jane gasped at the red substance and knelt down on the floor, gently taking Beatrix's hands in her's and looking for the damage on her slender fingers and palms. A bloody bracelet dropped to the floor with a dull thud and Beatrix seemed to awake from a trance and dazedly look up at Jane; not entirely there or seeing with her eyes so unfocused.

"Worry not Miss Clarke, 'tis only I – Jane, your maid." Jane told her softly, concern written across her face as she lightly fingered Beatrix's bloody hands. The maid was not sure what her lady had been trying to achieve, but she obviously had been attempting to do something with the bracelet as there was thick blood coating that too.

Beatrix nodded dumbly at the gentle voice talking to her and did not hold back the sadness consuming her as she knew the gentle voice would not betray her. Jane closed her arms around Beatrix's softly weeping form and softly rocked the young woman; mere months separating their ages, and murmured soothing words into her hair as they sat on the floor.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry about all the fluff in this chapter! Needed to be done though for the action-packed drama in the next chapter when I get around to writing it -rubs hands together evilly- lol. Unfortunately this may be near the end of June due to my oh so fantastic GCSEs coming up in a few weeks - groans-. So sorry for the delay on this chapter, and for the upcoming one on the next chapter! Thanks for all the reviews as they're all so nice and great motivation, and very much appreciated! Thanks for reading (if you didn't die of boredom/slush overload in this chapter lol) and for now, my beloved readers...I bid you adieu! _

_Rach xx -struggles out of mound of fluff and curtsies to all the readers-_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Sorry it had been so long since I last updated! Exams caused crippling writer's block and so it's taken me months to eventually sort everything out how I wanted it. Quite a short chapter and it's a bit choppy, but hopefully there will be more updates very soon.  
Thomas Woodruff is the highwayman mentioned brieflyin Chapter 4.  
Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The sound of heeled footsteps resounded loudly across the expanse of marble in the silent foyer. Beatrix made her way towards one of the dark oak doors with blank determination on her face. Sir Henry had called her to the drawing room and she stopped outside the door to take a deep breath and fuss with her hair, before knocking and entering. 

"Beatrix." Sneered Sir Henry indulgently, a dark twinkle in his eye as he looked over her appraisingly and beckoned her towards him.

She obeyed him; seething with silent fury and a small ounce of fear, and came to stand in front of him.

"I want you to organise a masquerade ball for this coming Saturday's evening. It will be in preparation for our marriage and will give you a chance to mix with the, ahem, elite of London society. I expect one of the maids and the kitchen staff to help you prepare the engagement, and I have here the list of addresses to which I expect invitations to be sent."

Beatrix stood dumbstruck for a moment as she realised she only had three days in which to organise a complete party for goodness knows how many people – all of which were some of the richest, most beautiful and most powerful creatures to walk the streets of Britain. But what if she failed to plan a good party?

Sir Henry's hand roused her from her thoughts as he beckoned her towards him with a small leather-bound book.

"This is the address list I have prepared for you and I want no-one left from the invitation list, do you understand?" Beatrix nodded at his firm tone. "Good. Well come and get it then!" He said impatiently and huffed as Beatrix made her way hastily towards him.

As she reached out to grasp the book, he yanked it so she lurched forward towards him with a startled gasp. Reaching out a hand to stroke the side of her face, Sir Henry sighed faintly as a smile ghosted over his face.

"Don't disappoint me Beatrix." He whispered evenly before sweeping out of the room and leaving her alone in the drawing room.

Gingerly, Beatrix traced the spot where he had touched her and let out a stifled choke as she ran from the room and began scrubbing her face hurriedly. Once she was satisfied no traces of him had been left, she returned to the drawing room and sat at the desk next to the large bay window. She could hear the busy London Street outside and yet she sat flicking through the pages of the small book with ever growing despair, until finally she whipped it shut with an exasperated sigh and sat with her head in her hands.

A quiet rap on the door and a faint cough made Beatrix look up and with a smile she found Jane stood in the doorway with a tray in her arms.

"Mornin' Miss Clarke. I just came to bring you some tea and scones, and also some news." Jane told her in a casual sing-song way, though there was a dark twinkle in her eyes that led Beatrix to believe there was more to what she was saying.

"News?" Beatrix asked slowly in a suspicious tone before eagerly pulling up another chair beside hers and patting it excitedly. "Come! Pray sit and tell me what news!"

Jane grinned and placed the tray down on the desk before scuttling back across towards the open door to the drawing room; ignoring Beatrix's protests to sit down and flabbergasted expression, and assumed a regal pose in front of the door.

"For your services and, hopefully, your delight, may I please present to you Miss Clarke…James the stable-hand," Beatrix clapped her hands together in glee as the cheeky young man strode into the drawing room, followed by: "Miss Gunnard the cook, and the one – the only: Howard, Sir Henry's personal manservant."

Beatrix watched enthusiastically as the four people formed a line in front of her and bowed before her, smiling at her claps and looking eagerly towards Jane.

"Pray! Please all of you: sit down! I won't have any of you standing for me." Fussed Beatrix, leaping to her feet and moving chairs around the room so that they were all eventually seated around the desk. Once that was done she smiled at them all questioningly and turned to Jane. "Jane, what is the meaning of all this?"

The other four shifted in their seats with anticipation and Jane could hardly contain her obvious delight at what she had to say.

"Oh Miss Gunnard you say it! I'm too excited!" She squeaked and flashed an excited grin at a bemused Beatrix before ducking her head shyly and twisting her apron in her hands.

Miss Gunnard sighed with a warm chuckle and turned her friendly gaze upon Beatrix. "You see Miss Clarke, we all know what a dreadful man our master is and we, none of us, want to see you married off to 'im. It'd put an end to your little life Miss, and after our Janey told us what he'd tried to do to you – well I never! That young man needs to be taken down a fair peg or two, I mean who does he think he is ranting and raving and-"

"Miss Gunnard, the plan?" Jane interrupted quickly as the older woman started going red in the face with anger and getting carried away.

"Ah yes child," The plump lady smiled warmly again and settled back into her chair. "Well Miss Clarke we can't see him taking away your life like that, so we're going to help you sabotage this masquerade ball, make a fool out of Sir Henry and get you safely out of his reaches."

The four people sat around Beatrix smiled proudly and looked towards her for approval, but all they found was Beatrix staring back at them looking mildly alarmed.

"Pardon?" She whispered.

* * *

Arthur rubbed his face tiredly and handed the reins of his horse to a small stable boy as the group arrived in the quiet inn yard, and gathered what they needed before making for the warm retreat of the inn and its hazy orange light that flickered in the windows.

The group talked amongst themselves quietly and their posture showed their fatigue as they trudged to a large table in the inn and made themselves comfortable. It had been a few days' ride since they had left Sir Fielding's residence and for the duration of the journey back the atmosphere had been rather subdued.

Gawain sighed and leant back in his chair with a tired groan; stretching the aching muscles of his arms out above his head and interrupting the relative quiet at the table.

"What?" He asked when everyone turned to look at him.

Galahad sniggered at the surprised tone in his friend's voice and cuffed him across the back of the head – much to the growing amusement of the rest of the table. Slowly, any tension that had been caught was released with the growing laughter; although two occupants declined to take part.

Tristan simply stood up, pushing his chair back with a rough motion and sauntered off to read the crudely written menu on the wall. Alice jumped up after him, leaving the remaining occupants at the table to stare after them both in confusion and turn towards Lancelot.

"Don't look at me," He shrugged. "What do you expect? She's a woman."

"She's just a woman, Tristan." Goaded Alice as she appeared behind him and pretended to read the board on the wall in front of them.

He turned his head slightly to cast an eye at her whilst grinding his teeth in exasperation. He shook his head, turning back to the board on the wall and defiantly ignoring her; his dark locks falling across his face so she could not see the loss of control he was fighting with his expression.

"What business is it of yours?" He hissed dangerously low and Alice recoiled slightly at his icy tone, but steeled her nerve and pursued what she had set out to do.

"You know the pressures of the society and the ruin she could bring to her family if she was to disobey her orders," Alice explained quietly, hoping her words would bring some sense. "But given the encouragement, then I am without doubt that she would follow you to the very ends of the earth itself."

Tristan's jaw gradually unclenched as he listened to Alice's words; letting them sink in before he reacted irrationally. Dark, considering eyes studied her closely as she fidgeted with her hands nervously under his scrutiny. Staidness steadily regained rule over him as his thoughts settled to a controlled, simmering level.

"So what do you suggest?" He asked gruffly, unused to asking for anyone else's opinion.

Alice's shoulders sagged in relief and she glanced at him with a small smile. Catching sight of his near black eyes watching her intently from behind his tousled hair, Alice looked back to the board and swept her eyes across it.

"My opinion? I would say go back for her – she's sure not to refuse you if you were to ask her to come away with you." She turned to make her way back to the table, but paused and looked over her shoulder at the pensive man. "Also, I've heard the venison dish is very good."

Tristan flicked his gaze up in time to catch sight of her small amused smile before she turned and left.

A shadowy figure in the dimly lit alcove by the meal boards took a large gulp of his ale and set the tankard back on the table with a satisfied sigh. Grinning slyly, he cocked his head and gave the seemingly troubled man stood near the wall an appraising view. After studying him closely for a small while, he turned his attention to the table from whence the man had come.

'So these are the famed highway protectors' thought Thomas to himself with a sneer. Indeed, these were the very men that had killed half of his company on the way to Westminster and who he had been searching for. And now, it seemed one of the famed guardians had fallen for a little rich girl – how very delicious an opportunity. Thomas almost let loose a contemptuous laugh, but settled for sneering and pushing his greying hair out of his eyes with a weathered hand.

He sat for a while longer and watched the table where the men sat; not even bothering to look up when a young woman brought him his meal as he was concentrating so intently. A plan began to formulate in his mind as he studied the fatigued faces talking jovially at the nearby table and listened to small snippets of conversation. Once he was satisfied he had all the information he needed, Thomas slipped from his shadowy alcove and exited the room silently; ghosting past the other occupants with a wily look of determination and leaving the door to swing shut after him.

'This girl could be the perfect leverage we've needed for so long. Kidnapping her and holding her to ransom could spell all sorts of trouble for Arthur Castus and his company of guardians.' Growled Thomas, walking down a dark side alley of the inn and spitting on the floor as though the words were disgusting in his mouth. Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he began trudging up the rickety wooden staircase at the back of the building which held the guest rooms and servants quarters. He did not bother knocking on the door but merely sauntered in and cast his hat and cape onto a nearby table as the door swung shut behind him.

Four pairs of eyes turned to look at him from different points around the torch-lit room and Thomas beckoned the nearest pair over towards him. The other men turned back to what they were doing; playing cards or cleaning their guns, paying the other two occupants little attention.

"What's up guv'ner?' Enquired the haunted looking man that approached Thomas and looked upon him with shadowed eyes in the flickering torchlight.

Thomas smirked grimly at the man next to him, his face covered in a small alcove of shadow but the silver of his dark hair still glinting in the darkness.

"I think, Jack, that I've just found what we've been looking for." He announced with quiet confidence, removing the small dagger from his belt and fingering it slowly in the orange glow of the torches.

Jack frowned at the mystery of his captain and ran a hand across the coarse patch of stubble on his face, but kept his eyes on the constant movement of the dagger in Thomas' hand.

"You see my friend, seduction is a cruel game; love even more so." Explained Thomas loftily, tracing the point of his dagger around a spider sat on the table beside them. "But it is only cruel to the players involved you see. To anyone else it's simply an...opportunity, shall we say. This is why we're going to be taking advantage of such a game my lad, but people will get…hurt." With a sharp movement, Thomas had stabbed the spider into the wooden tabletop with his dagger and proceeded to lift it to eyelevel and watch the spider flail helplessly on the dagger's point before eventually becoming still. "There's no doubt about that." He continued softly and Jack saw his trademark malicious grin appear from the darkness it had been shrouded in.

Thomas span to face the other men who were now watching the exchange between the two men closely and looked upon them darkly.

"There will be kidnapping, ransom and ultimate betrayal. We will be rich men by the end of this trial that we face, so what say you? Will you follow me? Listen to my orders? Abide by my rules?" His voice held strength and power that seemed to rouse the other men with excitement and eagerness. "Will we highwaymen see this day to our last?"

There was a unanimous impassioned response from the other men and Thomas laughed heartily before raising a bottle of wine from the table into the air and toasting it. The others did likewise before drinking deep and giving a roar when Thomas smashed his bottle on the floor.

* * *

Tristan breathed in the crisp night air deeply from his place in the shadowy courtyard and thought only of Beatrix. Of her smile, her beauty, her warmth, it all pained him to know she was so very near and yet so far from his grasp. He growled in annoyance and kicked a loose stone across the ground and watched it skitter into the darkness without a trace. Alice's words still rang in his ears but they were forgotten as his attention was drawn to a commotion across the other side of the courtyard in one of the inn's rooms.

Moving stealthily across the cobbled courtyard Tristan stayed just outside the pool of light created by a lantern hung on the inn wall and watched the dimly lit window he had heard the noise from closely. After a few moments the man he had seen in the dark recesses of the inn appeared framed in the window and gazed out across the empty expanse of cobbles before seeming to rest his eyes on him. Tristan didn't shrink back further into the shadows from the man's gaze but instead hardened his own and realised this man must have been a professional to have seen him in such dark shadows. The man stared at him a while longer before snapping the curtains shut with a brusque movement and leaving the scout with the distinct feeling that something treacherous was afoot.

Tristan backed away from his place near the staircase to the room and made his way slowly back to the door of the inn. He would have to keep extra alert these next few days if he wanted to keep himself and his brothers safe from attack, and yet, all he could think of was how Beatrix was faring all alone with that monster of a man.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the long long delay on this chapter but as I mentioned before, exams can play havoc with any writing and writer's block sure doesn't help!  
But what do we all think? There will be more of Beatrix and how the plan is turning out there in the next chapter hopefully and also some more scheming Woodruff - mwaahahahaa! We'll also see if Tristan is willing to actually move himself and do anything! -sighs- Typical man...  
Any reviews would be much appreciated and criticism is always helpful! Thanks so much for reading and for my faithful reviewers who have put up with me from the very start - although starting to question the level of sanity of them for doing so lol.  
Have a great day everyone! And if it's anyone's birthday soon/now/a little while ago - Happy Birthday! My 16th was yesterday so I'm in a very birthday mood lol.  
__Rach xx_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Sorry for the circly borders but the ruler button is refusing to work today so it's the best I can do I'm afraid! Anyway, new chapter! Hope you enjoy! It's all starting now - ooo! P_

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

"So let me think this all the way through," Sighed an exasperated Beatrix as she helped Jane fold some laundry downstairs in the kitchens. "The guests arrive as planned and everything is normal and as Sir Henry wants it, yes?"

Jane nodded before scooping the pile of laundry in front of Beatrix into her arms and carrying it over to the cabinet full of linen sheets and such. She had been mortified when Beatrix had asked to help and had tried her utmost to stop the lady of the house from doing so but Beatrix had insisted. She made her way back over to her mistress who was stood deep in thought; still holding a half-folded sheet in her hands.

Beatrix shook herself from her thoughts and continued. "But then when it is time for Sir Henry and I to make our grand entrance – in full masquerade costume, it is not I who he meets at the top of the stairs and accompanies down?"

Jane smiled and nodded, thanking Miss Gunnard as she set two cups of tea in front of the young women and some slices of cake.

"That's right Miss. It'll be me in a disguise – just so Sir Henry will think it to be you Miss." Replied Jane warmly, swallowing a piece of the cake and brushing the crumbs off her hands. "But the next part will be the trickiest Miss. It'll be crucial that we get everything right….otherwise the whole thing might fall apart."

Beatrix nodded and took a sip of her tea, but her expression was distant and her mind was working feverishly. The hot liquid slid down her throat comfortingly and she allowed herself to relax for a moment and stop panicking over the masquerade ball; or rather the plan to sabotage it. They had two days in which to perfect everything before it was show time, and there would be room for no mistakes.

The homely, plump figure of Miss Gunnard came and sat with the two young women, giving a great sigh of relief as she sat down and took a sip of her tea. She brushed her grey hair out of her face and smiled softly at the troubled face of the dark haired, troubled woman sat opposite her.

"Miss Beatrix, if you don't mind my saying so, you've got nout to worry 'bout my child." She commented reassuringly and Beatrix's violet eyes warmed with hope and a smile. "Have you done all the invitations Miss?"

Beatrix set down her teacup and nodded, telling them she had sent James off with them that very morning to have them delivered speedily to the various guests and visitors. They spent a few minutes chatting idly about the certain guests expected to be attending the ball, but as the conversation grew on Beatrix became quieter and quieter until she was hardly listening at all. Miss Gunnard noticed the young lass fiddling absent-mindedly with a bracelet and recognised the troubled expression in her distant eyes, and frowned to herself.

Turning to Jane she wiped her hands hastily on her apron and stood up, shooing the other girl out of the kitchen so that Sir Henry would not return to find his house in disarray after she lagged behind with her chores. Jane's eyes widened at the thought of his rage if that happened and excused herself meekly before rushing out of the kitchen whilst Miss Gunnard set about chopping vegetables for that evening's dinner; her back to Beatrix. After a few minutes silence, in which Beatrix played idly with the cake still left untouched on her plate Miss Gunnard sighed and began to talk without looking up from the chopping board.

"Where d'ya think you'll go after this Miss?"

Beatrix sighed and gazed down wistfully at the newest addition to the gleaming silver metal; Tristan's face materializing in her mind before melting back into ill-forgotten memories.

"I was thinking of going to look up an old friend, since I cannot return home to my father-." Her quiet voice broke with emotion then and she took a shaky breath before continuing. "As the shame I will bring my family by doing this is too great. I have nowhere else to go apart from looking for my friend."

Miss Gunnard put down her knife and the carrot she had been chopping and wiped her hands on her apron as she came to stand next to Beatrix. She put her arms around the younger woman gently and stroked her dark hair soothingly as Beatrix leant against her chest and wiped hastily at the tears that rose up within her and spiked her eyelashes.

"I'm sure any of your friends will welcome you with open arms, my lass; into their homes or their hearts." Cooed the old cook kindly and when Beatrix looked up at her with a surprised frown, she simply winked cheekily and gave a gentle chuckle. "It's alright dear; an ol' girl like me knows when a man's involved."

Beatrix gave the cook a small grateful smile and laughed when the wise older woman scolded her for not eating her cake. They shared another smile before Miss Gunnard pushed her small wisps of grey hair back into its bun and bustled about the kitchen preparing the evening meal; Beatrix watching her and eating her piece of cake thoughtfully.

"What will happen when Sir Henry finds out I am gone, to the staff I mean?" Beatrix asked, brushing crumbs from her dress as she stood up and carried the cups and plates over to the thick oak sideboard.

"Well 'opefully he'll never know the lot of us were involved. But, God forbidding," Miss Gunnard crossed herself quickly before going back to putting the chopped vegetables in a large oven dish with a joint of pork. "Jane's the one that'll be most at risk – but worry not child. She's already sorted herself out with a new job at another big 'ouse in Westminster with her sister. She's sick of the master anyway so either way I think she'll leave us."

Beatrix nodded and quelled the fear within her at any backlash Sir Henry might distribute and excused herself before hurrying back into the main part of the house to await Sir Henry's return.

Candlelight cast a shadowy glow about the dining room where Beatrix and Sir Henry sat eating their evening meal in strained silence. The clink of glasses and cutlery on china plates intermixed with the roar of the fireplace were the only sounds in the cavernous room as the 'happy couple' chewed their way through Miss Gunnard's meal.

Sir Henry's eyes wandered constantly from his plate towards the woman sat at the opposite end of the extended table; watching her delicate lips envelop the fork, the way her hair shone in the fiery glow, the way she was studiously ignoring him…Sir Henry frowned and cleared his throat, causing her to look up at him through her lashes at the unexpected sound.

"Are you well Sir Henry?" She asked politely; though just looking at him made her want to wretch on her food.

"Yes very well thank you Beatrix." He replied smoothly, shooting her a charming smile and stroking the stem of his wine glass casually. "I trust you are settling into your duties in organising the masquerade ball?"

"Indeed. James set off this morning to the post master to deliver all of the invitations, and myself and Miss Gunnard have already chosen a menu and a list of entrées to serve the guests as the ball is underway. I have heard that entrées are all the rage in Paris and thought it would be a fashionable addition to the ball as they are not yet well known in London. Do you not think so, Sir Henry?"

His finger paused in mid-air as he listened to the mildly bored tone of Beatrix. He had not expected for her to work so quickly, or so efficiently. The task he had set was purposefully difficult and yet she was excelling. He coughed distractedly and plastered a pleasant smile across his face and raised his glass in recognition of her achievements; all of which Beatrix greeted with a polite smile which failed to reach her eyes.

"It seems you have everything well within your order Beatrix. It also seems as though I have myself a very clever little wife."

Beatrix's smile faltered a moment as the words escaped his lips but she reassured herself that she would never be his wife and would be free of him in a matter of days. Once the rising wave of panic inside her had calmed, she looked at him with a bright smile which he returned unknowing of her thoughts.

"Indeed it would seem so."

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

The day had come.

Thomas peered hastily out of the window with a frown, before ducking his head back out of the alcove and leaning an arm over his head upon the stone overhang that surrounded the window. The bad weather was setting in quicker than he had expected and so if they wanted to make a move, it would have to be today.

Jack joined him by the window and he too grimaced at the dark grey clouds swirling over the inn.

"At least the rain will wash away our tracks." He commented casually, but Thomas knew there was more to what he said.

"And who would be tracking us, eh Jack?" He growled, a hint of derisive laughter in his voice as he turned to look at his younger right-hand man.

Jack shifted uncomfortably under his captain's scrutinizing gaze, and so continued in assessing the warning clouds from the safety of their room.

"Well that man of Castus' for a start. He's been watching us like a hawk ever since that inn on the outskirts of Westminster."

"Aye, that he has." Replied Thomas with a sigh, running a roughened hand across his face and moving away from the window.

The other three men had already been sent to attend the horses before riding off to tell the rest of the troupe of highwaymen to be ready at sundown when they would ride towards Westminster. This left just Jack and Thomas alone, with the crackling fire in the draughty room for company and the hipflask of whisky that Thomas carried at all times. He drank from it absent-mindedly now, his feet up on the table in front of his chair and his brow furrowed in deep thought.

Jack watched his captain from the corner of his eye and realised with a sense of dawning surprise that the captain was not as young as he used to be. His hair was greying quickly and though he still had strength and speed, his weathered face was growing haggard; his hands calloused and lined heavily from spending years out on the road in all weather. But his mind was still just as quick, Jack thought with a half-smile and though this mission was to be a dangerous one, Thomas had planned it down to every last detail.

"Jack? Come here boy."

Jack looked up at the rough texture of Thomas' voice and followed his instructions obediently. Thomas smiled ruefully to himself as he watched Jack sit down opposite him; Jack could have been a younger version of himself for all his wit and determination.

He sighed and dug into his pocket, pulling out a letter and tossing it effortlessly on the table before motioning for Jack to take it with his hipflask.

"I've got a few contacts in this house of Sir Fielding's, after all we've been after him a long time. But, from what this contact says, seems to me that Miss Clarke is no mousy character. Also seems to me that she's planning to leave this very night." Thomas explained casually, his coarse voice tinged with amusement. Jack looked up at him with slightly widened eyes from reading the letter and handed it back to Thomas. "So it looks like our work is going to be made a bit harder after all."

Jack watched his chief sigh in annoyance and toss back another gulp of burning whisky before tossing the remaining dregs into the fire; causing it to momentarily curl outwards angrily before settling.

"Well guv'ner…" Jack started slowly. "She ain't got much choice in where to go, has she? I figure, either she'll chance going back home which I doubt, or she'll come looking for the protection of Castus. She seems like a clever girl so she's going to know that to find either she's going to have to come by this road." Explained Jack, tracing his finger down the map spread out on the table and looking up at Thomas.

His captain was silent for a moment, seeming to consider his young apprentice's words before nodding and setting his boots down of the table and dragging his chair closer.

"There's a bridge in the road here too," Continued Jack, pointing to a small monument on the map. "If we set a trap on this side of it then we can easily grab her when she crosses the bridge. Then we's got an easy escape either back down the road to an inn or into the forest."

Thomas sat back with a satisfied grin and clapped his accomplice across the back, who in turn grinned, and the pair set about packing up and readying for their journey as the afternoon began to draw to a close. Thomas looked out the window hastily once more as Jack put out the fire; plunging the room into a grey shadow, before both made their way out of the room and down to the stables.

Pushing his long black cloak out of the way as he swung up onto his horse, Thomas took the reins from the scruffy stable-boy and dug a few coins from his pocket. He bent down to tell something to the boy before dropping the coins into the awaiting grubby hands, and the pair galloped out of the cobbled inn yard and into the darkening clouds that swirled over the lonely forest.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

Tristan sat brooding in his room. He was sat on the thick stone window ledge, his back against the wall, one arm slung over the leg propped up on the ledge whilst the other leg dangled off the side. The window was open beside him and the chill breeze tugged longingly at his tousled hair, ghosting across his face and causing the braids hanging into his eyes to flutter slightly in the wind.

Between his bent leg and the edge of the ledge sat Beatrix. Her back was pressed lightly against his chest and he could feel a deep warmth radiating from her. One hand was draped casually around her waist, binding her to him, whilst his other hand toyed softly with her dark curls that swayed with the wind. Her delicate scent floated on the breeze and filled his senses, welling up a need deep inside him; a longing.

A longing for what? He sighed and opened his intensely brown eyes, the image disappearing before him as he turned his head towards the open window and stated gruffly that the door was open. He recognised the swift footsteps to be that of Lancelot and clenched his jaw slowly knowing he hadn't time for the younger man's interrogation.

"What do you want Lancelot?" He growled, not even turning his head to look who was there, but Lancelot was used to the elusive scout's tricks.

"Arthur sent me to tell you we are about to dine downstairs." Lancelot replied indifferently, looking about the room with a casual glance. Tristan didn't reply, and Lancelot quickly grew impatient. "Well? Are you coming down or not?"

Tristan growled a response and studiously ignored Lancelot, instead watching out of the window.

"Bloody scout." Muttered Lancelot, sighing in annoyance and turning back towards the door. "Need to get yourself a woman."

Tristan had Lancelot by his collar back against the door quicker than Lancelot thought possible. Even a hardened fighter like Lancelot gulped at the fury in the older man's eyes as he gave him a glare that could freeze the blood in his veins. Instead of adopting a tactful approach, Lancelot simply stared back at him defiantly.

"What the hell is with you Tristan? You've been a right ill-tempered git these past few days!"

The scout simply glared harder at him; his teeth bared fiercely, his dark eyes hard and sinister and his dishevelled locks meaning his face was only partly in view which made him seem all the more dangerous. After a few seconds he let go of Lancelot, who would have stumbled if he wasn't pressed up against the door as he was, and simply snarled for him to get out. Lancelot brushed off his jacket and fixed his shirt collar huffily before turning and opening the door.

"By the way, Alice told me to give you this." He snapped, tossing a small folded white piece of paper upon the desk next to the door and then slamming it as he walked out.

Tristan paced for a while longer, bristling with anger and his mind in turmoil before turning to the desk and snatching the piece of paper up.

'_Tomorrow we take the road leading back to Kent. Once we have taken that turn there shall be no going back. Beatrix will be as good as dead to you. If you love her then you will act upon this night. I know you will make the right decision, Tristan.' _

She had signed the letter simply '_Alice_'. Tristan paused in his infuriated striding and sank down onto the bed with the letter still clutched in his hands. The small delicate splashes of black against the pure white of the paper spoke a truth Tristan had consciously failed to accept, and so had pushed it deep into the recesses of his mind.

"As good as dead…" He whispered to himself, knowing that she would be as good as dead if he left her with that excuse of a man.

He dropped the piece of paper onto the creaky wooden floorboards as he ran his hands through his hair and grimaced at his inner turmoil. If he did go after her then what would happen? It was his pride on the line, his heart he would bare before a girl who was far above his standing. A girl he hardly knew. Yet, it was like she knew him right down to his very soul; a place he hardly dared venture himself, let alone share with others. But maybe that was because she was his soul, she completed him, made him whole, in a way that nothing else in the world could.

A sharp screech from the window signalled his hawk had returned and had perched upon the window ledge. It screeched again almost as if to urge him to do something and Tristan nodded in agreement, pushing himself off the bed with force and grabbing his jacket and gun holster before stalking of the room; leaving both the window and door open to blow in the breeze.

Throwing his gun holster around his waist and buckling it tightly, Tristan hurried down the stairs; his deep eyes darkening with the dying light. He appeared in the quiet inn downstairs stealthily, and it was a moment before Lancelot noticed him and stopped his rant about the irritable scout. Tristan however was not paying attention, instead studying the shaded corner that had housed the ominous man last night that he had been tracking ever since the incident at the inn on the outskirts in Westminster. The man was gone, and that itself immediately signalled something was happening. Frowning, Tristan turned back to look at his comrades; particularly towards Arthur who simply nodded mutely and watched his scout stride determinedly from the inn. The rest of the men watched Tristan go with confusion, before turning back to Lancelot who simply muttered "See? Still as bloody silent when something's wrong. Bloody scout."

Without even paying mind to the gloomy clouds overhead, Tristan sauntered into the stables and saddled up his horse quickly before swinging himself up onto the horse' back with practised ease. Just as he was about to set off out of the stable at a furious pace, a small stable-boy ran towards him.

"Sir! Sir! Wait, I have a message for you, Sir!"

Tristan growled deep in his throat at the interruption but waited, turning to the boy impassively. The boy cowered beneath his intimidating gaze and gulped hard before delivering his message.

"A man, sir, he told me that if I should see you then I should tell you that: 'There is more than one danger to her on this night.'" Recalled the boy with a confused frown.

Tristan felt a surge of fury course through him and gruffly thanked the boy, tossing some coins hastily on the floor as he pelted out of the stables and into the light rain that was now falling steadily.

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__A/N: Oh my! Let me tell you there is going to be an explosion of drama in the next chapter - yay! I've been waiting forever to get to this point where I can go wild with mad things and fights and heartache and general dramatic happenings! -takes a breath- Might not be able to fit it all in one chapter but I'll try my best. So, any comments? I wasn't sure if Tristan would act so rashly but I had to add a bit of tension and show how urgently he felt about this, so c'est la vie. Lots of plans going on here as you've seen - but will any of them work? -evil laugh and rubs hands together-  
Thanks for reading and any reviews I've recieved, or any reviews I might recieve!  
Sadly this story is drawing to a close soon but thanks for everyone's support - it's been a lot of fun to write!  
__Rach xx_


	12. Chapter 12

Beatrix sat gazing longingly out of the window in the bedroom next door to Sir Henry's and her self's. She could see small figures hurrying along the street below, their shapes indistinct as the rain splattered against the glass in which her face was framed. The rain that had been threatening all day like a sense of foreboding had finally broken and Beatrix fiddled glumly with the cushions on the seat on which she sat. An escape would prove difficult enough, but an escape in the rain? It was just what she needed; to be riding around in the dark with only a basic idea of where she was meant to be headed, and to be soaked to the bone and have visibility reduced even further.

She sighed miserably and turned back away from the window and looked towards where some of the maids were dressing Jane in hushed whispers. Sir Henry had already visited Beatrix earlier that afternoon to make sure she was ready for the ball that evening and had left the extra bedroom still none the wiser to her plans. Now she watched Jane being helped into the corset, and later the dress that Beatrix should have been wearing that very night. Beatrix looked down at her own simple, yet striking dress and over at the heavy black cloak draped over the chaise lounge; which she would be making her escape in later that night.

"Here, let me." Instructed Beatrix, keeping her voice purposely low as she crossed the room and bade the maids to go about making sure everything was just right at the banquet. If she was going to ruin Sir Henry, then she would at least do it in style.

Jane flashed a small, grateful smile in the full length mirror as Beatrix pulled up a chair and sat her down. Brushing out Jane's long hair, Beatrix noticed with empty satisfaction that the dye Jane had used made the younger girl's hair basically the same shade as Beatrix's. She frowned as she set about carefully curling and pinning Jane's hair in a typical elegant renaissance style. It wasn't that she wasn't thankful for all that these people were doing for her, she thought anxiously, but she just had a ghastly sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach that something was going to happen tonight.

"And well I told him that he…. Miss Beatrix?" Jane whispered, frowning at the distant look on Beatrix's face and turning to look at her to see if she was even listening.

Beatrix snapped back to reality, pushing the horrid feeling away and placing gentle hands on her friend's shoulders with a smile.

"I'm sorry Jane, my thoughts ran away with me." She explained with a light laugh, turning Jane back to face the mirror before another frown troubled her brow once again.

"It's alright Miss, I understand. It's a big night for you." Jane replied reassuringly, falling silent as she sensed her mistress was in no mood for talking and instead settling to watch Beatrix's deft hands carefully position small flowers; arrange the ribbons holding her hair in place before adding a final jewelled headband.

"It's beautiful." Breathed Jane in awe. Never had she believed that a girl from a poor background like her would be wearing such finery and attending a masquerade ball.

Beatrix gave her a small, yet warm, smile and helped her to stand up; arranging the dress' cavernous skirt and petticoats. Then she stood back, pushing her deep brown curls from her face and nodding in approval.

"Perfect." She murmured, noting that the make-up needed for the masquerade ball helped mask any major differences between her and Jane, and that the small jewelled and feathered mask Jane would be carrying should draw attention away from her bright green eyes – impossibly different to the hazy violet of Beatrix's own.

Jane walked around the room for a while as she got used to the weight and immobility of the dress. Its gold embroidery and inlaid beads and jewels glinted wondrously in the blaze of candlelight that a maid had returned to light after Beatrix had finished Jane's hair.

"Will you go for him Beatrix?" Asked Jane wistfully, flopping down; albeit carefully, on the chaise lounge and watching her mistress organising her things.

Beatrix stilled, it was the first time Jane had called her by her first name with no unneeded title or addresses. A small smile crept to her face at this revelation, staying there as Beatrix fought to keep it as she hesitantly fingered the bracelet dangling about her slight wrist. The engravings she had made caught the light of the candles and winked serenely at her; reminding her of so many good and terrible memories. Focusing on Tristan's initials she let out a jaded sigh in spite of herself and thought about the road that lay ahead of her.

"I hope so." She whispered, lifting her head to look pensively at Jane; her dark curls falling restlessly into her eyes.

Jane simply nodded and fiddled idly with the fabric of her dress as Beatrix packed her things. There was little noise in the room apart from Beatrix shuffling the few clothes she could take and organising her small parcel of valuables. She'd been sad at first at the thought of leaving behind all her beautiful dresses but then it struck her that this was a new life she was embarking upon. She had no need for such worldly goods as long as she had the one she loved, and she had never been an overly proud child. An unexpected smile caught Beatrix by surprise as she finished tying the cloth that held everything of her life now; some clothes, her jewels ,a poem of her mother's– all that she needed.

A tap on the shoulder caught Jane by surprise but she quickly nodded at Beatrix and gathered her mask, taking a final look in the full-length mirror before heading towards the door. Beatrix tied the heavy black cloak around her neck, holding the parcel in a hand and took a deep breath after smiling nervously at Jane.

"Fare travel and the best of wishes. May you find the one you seek and rebuild your life as it should have been." Whispered Jane warmly, the smile one of hope and encouragement as she sought out Beatrix's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I cannot thank you enough Jane." Beatrix whispered in reply, her voice thick with emotion and her violet eyes glittering with unshed tears. "You have done more than a person ever should for me. I wish you the best on this evening and every evening for the rest of your time. Thank you."

Beatrix squeezed Jane's hand back gratefully and the pair shared a heartfelt smile before a maid opened the door and Beatrix slipped her hood over her head. No more words were shared as Jane calmly placed the mask over her face and walked down the gallery towards the main stairs. Beatrix followed her carefully until she reached the door to the servant's stairs and paused, watching Jane walk with practised caution through the open double doors to the head of the grand staircase where Sir Henry was waiting for her; surveying the grand ball below him. He turned to who he presumed to be Beatrix with a smile, noticing a slight shadowy movement from the corner of his eye behind 'Beatrix' in the gallery. He frowned momentarily before shaking it off and greeting Beatrix with a bow and kiss upon the hand. She accepted it gracefully and the couple turned to face the now awaiting crowd who had fallen silent at the elegant arrival of the couple in question.

Jane's breath caught in her throat as she gazed down at the grandeur and mass of well-established people in all their finery. It was a dream come true for a poor servant girl such as herself. Sir Henry could see the subtle smile on his fiancée's face and smirked smugly as they began their descent down the grand staircase, satisfied that Beatrix had finally come around to his way of thinking. She would be his perfect, obedient, beautiful wife – earning him an even higher place in society across the country with the extent of her estates outside of London. He sighed aloud, thoroughly pleased with himself and matched his smile to the beaming one of Jane's.

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"What do you mean the back entrance is blocked!" Cried Beatrix, her voice shrill with fear and alarm as Miss Gunnard stood barking orders in the kitchens; far enough away to be heard in the ballroom, especially with the music and talking.

"I'm sorry Miss but those damned posh people's horsemen just went an' parked their carriages there! It's blocked off the whole back exit – there's no way out I'm afraid Miss." Explained Miss Gunnard apologetically, before turning to scold one of the maids for nearly dropping a tray of specially prepared food.

Beatrix sat down on the stool behind her aghast; her whole face blank and shocked, her eyes numbed by the tremendous swell of fear and panic washing over her. It was how she imagined a person might feel when they were shot, she mused to herself vacantly, trapped in life but knowing that your only hopes of staying there had been lost.

Miss Gunnard turned back to Beatrix, alarmed to see her in such a state. "Bring me a cup of water, if you please Molly!" She called out, thanking the mousy girl as a mug of water appeared next to her before pressing the small cup into Beatrix's shaking hands and begging her to drink.

"There's no escape." Beatrix whispered wretchedly, turning her lonely eyes up to meet Miss Gunnard's warm gaze.

"Child, we'll find a way. We ain't out of ideas yet…somethin' will come along." Murmured the cook reassuringly, turning away from the girl and calling out for someone to fetch her Howard, the master's butler, before whispering aloud to herself. "Somethin' has to come along, for that poor child's sake."

Howard appeared a few moments later looking rather flustered but still his authoritive and controlled self. Miss Gunnard told him the problem and he was silent for a moment as he absorbed the news.

"Well, there's only one other way out." He replied slowly, his tone telling Miss Gunnard that it was risky. She nodded anyway, ushering the severe man over towards Beatrix.

"Miss Clarke," Spoke Howard in his grave tone, demanding her attention as she stared blankly around the room. Once her eyes had shifted and focused upon him, he gave a small smile before continuing. "There is another way out."

Waiting to see her reaction, Howard took a breath of relief as a sudden blaze of fierce determination awoke in her eyes and the glaze of wretched tragedy disappeared from her face. "But I must warn you, it is risky."

Beatrix put down the small mug of water and stood up unwaveringly, begging him to continue. If this was her only way out, then to hell with the risks.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

Twenty or so minutes later, Beatrix found herself standing in the alcove next to the entrance to the ballroom of the corridor that led towards the servant's kitchens and corridors. She, and five others were pressed back into the shadowy corner so that they wouldn't be spied by any of the guests or Sir Henry himself. Beatrix was at the front though and could spy out into the ballroom if she tilted her head slightly; keeping hr face pressed tightly to the wall. She watched the servers moving into place beside the torches within the room and breathed deeply, casting her eyes over towards the main entrance where she would make her escape. Memorising the route and trying to calm her nerves, she was surprised when one of the young women behind her tapped her on the shoulder.

"We wish you the best of luck dear." She whispered politely, the others smiling towards Beatrix encouragingly too.

A warm smile graced Beatrix's lips as she thanked the singing group for allowing her safe passage as they made their entrance in any moment. Just as she had finished thanking them, one by one the torches were blown out in the ballroom until there was absolute darkness.

Sir Henry frowned in confusion as the torches were blown out. "What in hell is going on?" He muttered angrily, casting his head this way and that so see what was happening but the darkness was simply too deep and yawning.

Beatrix shook herself free of her momentary falter and dashed out of the alcove, making towards the ballroom. She could see the faint glow of the torches outside the main entrance and braced herself determinedly as she began pushing her way through the startled guests, not breaking her run as she flew through the crowds. Alarmed gasps and cries mapped Beatrix's wake but she did not stop to apologise, simply using her nerves and fierce purpose to run faster, bracing herself harder against the solid bulk of bodies that made up the crowd. The darkness seemed like a never-ending void between her and her freedom, till she was so near to it that she could almost see Tristan's face when she arrived at his door. With a final burst of speed, Beatrix put all her energy into reaching the doorway when she ran into the solid bulk of someone and the sheer force sent her staggering towards the marble floor.

She hit the marble with a cry of shock and pain, her knees jarring as they slammed against the unforgiving stone as her shoulder screamed at the impact a second later. The breath in her lungs was sucked from her as she forced herself to escape; scrabbling for purchase on the slippery stone. Her time was running out as the singing group would already be in place by now, when suddenly a strong grip on her arm heaved her to her feet. Dull surprise numbed her and allowed herself to be pulled up by this stranger; grabbing her pack on the way up. Pain coursed through her and she groaned softly as she was set on her feet; facing her saviour just as the torch at the opposite end of the room was lit. She felt her throat tighten as the torches began their slow path towards her, and she began to struggle against the arm holding her. The arm resisted though, she noted in confusion as she dug her nails hard enough to draw blood into the hand holding her and thrashed with all her might as the torches crept closer; their flames licking up the wall and dissipating the shadows slowly. With one final jerk she was free, just as the man before her began to take shape. Beatrix's eyes widened impossibly as she saw the vague resemblance of Sir Henry loom in front of her, a frown furrowing his brow as he attempted to see who the person he had caught was.

With a sudden jolt Beatrix realised her hood had fallen as she had fell and she desperately yanked at the fabric just as the last torch was being lit. Seeing the girl's predicament, a pure note of song filled the air as one of the young women began. Sir Henry's attention was turned just as he thought he saw the large violet eyes of Beatrix before him.

Finally shrouding herself with the hood once again, Beatrix thanked the very angels in the sky for the singers who had saved her. Twirling around, she made a last sprint for the open doors. Emerging on the dark street Beatrix focused on the horse waiting for her and ran towards it, just as Sir Henry realised the stranger had gone and darted towards the doors. He called out as Beatrix flung herself upon the horse; ignoring the fresh stab of pain throughout her body and kicked the animal swiftly with her heels.

"Hey you!" He shouted again, rushing towards the horse and rider as they sped off into the night; cloak billowing out behind them and leaving Sir Henry in their wake.

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A/N: Sorry this was quite a short chapter but otherwise I think too much would have been going on if I had carried it on as planned. So Beatrix has finally escaped! Yay! Or has she? With highwaymen out to get her and Sir Henry's sharp brain who knows what could happen -evil grin-. Next chapter will of course have our favourite Tristan in and lots more drama!  
Thanks for everyone who read and/or reviewed in the last chapter, and this chapter.  
Rach xx_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: This chapter took me forever so sorry it didn't take the 'few days' I had anticipated, stuff stopped me - some of it being myself :P Hope you enjoy!  
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The light rain sprayed against Tristan's face as he rode his horse at a furious pace through the forest, following a path he had taken only the day before in the opposite direction. Darkness was closing around him fast, emphasised by the gloom of the forest surrounding him but he kept riding just as fast. Fury and determination was in his veins, with fear lurking close behind that he would not reach Beatrix in time, but he ignored it and used only the adrenaline it provided. He mentally scolded himself for not returning for her sooner, why had he not realised he wanted, needed her sooner? Now she could be in danger because he failed to protect her, because he failed to save her…

The rain steadily grew heavier as a suffocating darkness fell upon horse and rider. The atmosphere was thick with tension and energy, a warning of worse things to come if ever there was one. Yet Tristan still did not slow the pace of his horse, trusting his stallion's speed to avoid any rabbit holes or ruts in the path in which the horse could twist an ankle and such. Flying through the lashing downpour, the scout tugged his jacket closer slightly and cast a wary eye across the surrounding woodland for a second before turning back to face the brunt of the wind and rain. There was no point in searching the woodland for those highwaymen, he had reasoned to himself, as it was far too dark to do at speed and the rain made it all the more difficult. Such dark conditions and the feverish pace of his mind could also give way to the scout seeing things in his frenzy, so it was best to just keep a focus on returning to Westminster.

Screwing his face up against the now torrential cloudburst, Tristan's dark eyes gleamed sinisterly as the rain cascaded down his soaked braids; his thoughts best left to himself as he considered what he might do to those highwaymen if they so much as thought of harming Beatrix.o

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Sir Henry smouldered dangerously as he sat at the side of the ballroom with a glass of brandy, a polite man who he had met through a very successful business venture at his side. Knocking back another swig of brandy, his brow furrowed further as he watched 'Beatrix' talking with other guests and generally being the perfect hostess. He growled lowly as the image of Beatrix's shocked face replayed in his mind. He could have sworn that strange woman who had run out and taken off on a horse had been his fiancée. Even in shadows he had recognised those wide violet eyes; heck, he had seen them wide with fear enough times through his cause.

Sensing his companion's foul mood, Charles Manningham cleared his throat after taking a hefty gulp of his brandy for some courage and turned to Sir Henry with a smile.

"Such a wonderful ball you have presented us with this evening, Sir Fielding. Simply marvellous." Charles commented cheerfully, using his brandy glass to gesture towards the great mass of dancing and frivolity.

Sir Henry sneered at the scene before him and turned to Charles with a shrewd eye.

"Even the most capable of business men are able to let a deal slip through their fingers, Charles."

Charles frowned at the mystifying talk of his host and watched as the wealthier man swirled the brandy round in the glass pensively for a moment before tossing it back without a second thought.

"Henry, whatever do you mean man?"

Snorting in some form of twisted amusement, Henry ran a hand through his blond hair and slammed his brandy glass down on the small table between the two men. Not bothering to put his mask back on, Sir Henry stood and looked down on the baffled Charles with a look of hilarity, though his eyes seemed hard and cold.

"I'll show you want I mean, my dear man." He said, and without further ado strode off towards where his 'fiancée' was stood not so far away, talking with some guests.

His handsome face didn't look as agreeable now as his nostrils flared angrily from his heavy breathing and his amber eyes flashed dangerously. His tall frame emanated power as he stalked towards Beatrix, shoving Charles aside as he jumped up to try and stop him.

Henry grabbed 'Beatrix's' arm roughly as she talked with the other guests; unsuspecting as to Sir Henry's plans. Jane let out a squeak of fear as he yanked on her arm, causing the eyes of the other guests to widen and gasps of shock erupt from the guests' mouths. Spinning the woman posing to be Beatrix so that she stood facing him, Henry grabbed the mask covering her face and ripped the jewelled creation off, leaving it to fall forgotten to the floor.

Gasps rose up from those assembled as they looked upon the face of a girl who was not their host's fiancée. Even Sir Henry was not altogether prepared for this revelation, and stood disbelieving for a moment; his fingers biting into Jane's arms as he held her tightly before him. The shock of being found out was quickly being replaced with guilt and fear as it crept up her face, blushing her cheeks and tearing her eyes. Eventually Sir Henry regained himself and forgetting all sense of decorum in front of the gathered guests, bent close to Jane's face with fury and malice in his eyes.

"Where is she?" He hissed, gripping harder on Jane's arms and shaking her roughly when she failed to answer. "WHERE IS SHE!" He bellowed, slapping her across the face and clenching his teeth as she sobbed.

"I...I d-don't know…sir." She eventually managed to choke out, between sobs as his large hands gripped harder, bruising her skin.

"Was she the one who fled from here naught but an hour ago?" He demanded again.

Jane could only nod helplessly in despair before Sir Henry dropped her to the floor in disgust and wheeled around, storming through the crowds towards the door.

"BRING ME MY HORSE!" He bellowed callously, striding purposefully out into the darkness.

Thunder rolled overhead as Sir Henry swung himself into his saddle and kicked his horse into action; his eyes as hard and cold as the lightning that flashed across the black sky.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

The familiar orange blaze of lanterns had long since passed, as Beatrix thundered out of the cobbled streets of London and made for the countryside. The rain was growing heavier by the second now and her thick woollen cloak was weighed down against her damp skin with the sheen of rain upon its fabric. She squinted to see the signpost as she raced along the road, but continued going anyway hoping it would be along soon. It was so hard to recognise anything in the dark, least of all with the torrent of rain in her face and Beatrix searched in vain for the signpost she has memorised as being hereabouts as they had ridden towards Westminster. Unbeknownst to Beatrix it was long since past, almost two miles behind her now and gaining distance as she rode further.

Pushing away the sodden hair plastered to her face, Beatrix cast her head about this way and that, squinting through the rain and darkness. How could she have been so stupid? As to have let herself be caught by Sir Henry – of all people! Stupid, stupid girl! And now it looked as though she was lost. Alone in the forest, darkness surrounding her and only the deafening noise of the wind in her ears and the heavy downpour for company. A deep roll of thunder erupted from the skies and Beatrix felt her horse judder slightly beneath her. She patted the horse's mane reassuringly, but a frown troubled her brow as she recalled the story Tristan had told her, but those thoughts were forgotten as she saw a faint light up ahead, set back a little way from the forest path.

Urging her horse forwards, she closed upon it quickly and found it to be a small house. Bringing the horse to a halt, Beatrix jumped down from the horse's back; her boots splashing in the murky puddles of the forest path and splashing mud up her dress. She paid it no heed though and instead led the horse into the relative shelter of the trees next to the small house. The sound of rain dancing through the trees was deafeningly loud as Beatrix stood waiting for someone to answer her knock on the door. She could see the memorable glow of a fire through the murky windows, and longed to be sat within its warming borders but she longed more for the source of warmth to be from Tristan.

Raising her fist to knock on the door again, Beatrix was relieved as the door swung open and an elderly man peered out at her.

"What d'ya want?" He rasped suspiciously, looking over the soaked young woman in front of him. It did not bode well for such a woman from a seemingly good background to be out in this weather and at this time of night. It could only spell trouble.

"I'm sorry to bother you sir, but I was wondering if you could direct me towards the road out of Westminster, heading towards Kent?" Beatrix called through the rain, trying to use her hood to keep most of the rain off her face whilst holding onto the horse's reins with the other hand.

The man stood silent for a moment as he seemingly considered the girl by giving her a few looks up and down. He decided it was none of his business what ailed the girl and so it was best not to be involved in such affairs and to send her on her way.

"About two miles down there." He told her, pointing back the way she had come. "Should be a large rock before you see it lass."

Beatrix thanked him and trudged back through the web of puddles and mud patches till she made it back onto the road. Swinging herself back up onto the horse, she patted the mare fondly and braced herself as a rumble of thunder crashed so loudly overhead that she could feel the vibrations through the ground. The horse dithered nervously but responded immediately when kicked in the flanks, and set off at a frightening pace back along the road.

Beatrix shivered under the drenched cloak and pushed her wet curls from her eyes, telling herself that those were not tears that rolled down her face; it must just be the rain. A constant spray of water battered her face and she felt the loneliness of being out here alone hit her like a punch to the gut. She gave up denying that she was not crying and instead surrendered herself to weeping away her sorrows into the rain. She could only hope for the best now, after all what was the worst that could happen after finding yourself alone and soaked to the bone in the middle of a forest with a thunderstorm raging around you?

A sigh of relief escaped her numb lips as Beatrix spotted the large boulder and signpost beside it through the obscuring veil of rain. She had wasted enough time already and now nothing was going to stop her. Skidding around the corner, she felt a small spark of determination warm her and wondered at how it sounded as though her horse was now twice as loud. A sort of shout strangled by the wind, made Beatrix turn to squint bewilderedly over her shoulder and gasp in shock at what she saw.

"Beatrix!" Bellowed Sir Henry, growing incensed as he saw her turn and caught the look of pure horror on her face framed perfectly by the hood. "You bitch! I'll kill you for what you've done!"

He kicked at his horse's flanks viciously again and bent lower in the saddle in order to try and streamline himself in the brunt of the wind. His nostrils were flared angrily and his hair was no longer the shining blond it had been; now matted and wet, splashes of mud across his face and his eyes ablaze with wrath.

Beatrix scrambled desperately in her saddle to turn, flicking her reigns to urge her horse to go faster and listening through the roar of wind and rain for the increasing volume of Sir Henry's hooves. The two horses careered down the forest road, flashes of movement through the shroud of rain and trees. Beatrix's white dappled mare led the pair, but only by a small margin and the gap was closing fast.

"Hurry, hurry!" She kept urging her horse under her breath, knees in tight as they rounded a corner; hooves sliding on the wet trail before speeding off again along the straight.

Sir Henry's teeth were bared ferally as he kicked his horse again in an attempt to close that small distance between him and Beatrix. Even through the crashes of thunder and howl of wind and rain, he knew she could hear the fierce snorting of his horse as he rode hard behind her; almost so close that he could reach out and grasp the cloak she wore that fluttered behind her in the wind. Anger coursed through his veins like liquid fire as he kicked his horse once again savagely and grinned with hideous wickedness; his horse slowly edging along the back end of Beatrix's horse. Now if only he could reach across and grab her scrawny little neck….

Seeing the bright flash of lightning before actually hearing it, Beatrix pulled hard on the reigns and yanked them to one side, swerving across the path. Sir Henry hadn't time to question why she did such a thing, as he too was suddenly made aware of the large tree blazing with flames; the fire harsh in the drab colours of the storm. His face was a picture of terror as he horse galloped towards the inferno, before whinnying in alarm and rearing up on its hind legs. Beatrix's horse whinnied in panic and thrashed about wildly, Beatrix helplessly trying to control it, but in its fear the frightened animal bolted off down the dark path.

She could hardly breathe as the horse flew across the forest path; white plumes of steam escaping its nostrils into the cold rain. Turning back, Beatrix could just make out the blazing tree and Sir Henry's horse raised up in angry protest. She watched until the path had wound round and the dark forest had consumed any evidence of there being a fire. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest, and the adrenalin was like tiny bolts of tingling energy gushing through her body. Letting the horse run out its fear, Beatrix simply held on and took the time to catch her breath and thank her lucky stars for that lightning.

Ironic that Tristan should have been hurt by it, and she saved by it, she mused to herself. The rain was a welcome relief now against the fire of energy inside her, though it still pounded down on her like a barrage of arrows onto her cloak. Just as long as she could get to Tristan, that was all that mattered now. Forget the thunder and lightning, the rain, the cold and the darkness, forget Sir Henry or any time lost down ill-turned paths, forget the numbness that hurt her hands or the white hot flashes of pain in her knees and shoulder. That was nothing to her now. All she needed was her courage and she would prevail. She had to.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

Darkness had fallen hours ago and the storm was still raging overhead, as Thomas Woodruff stood on the bridge of the planned assault of Beatrix Clarke. His hands were braced against the slippery stone of the balustrade, his eyes watching the rushing deluge of floodwater below in the river. With his head bowed, drops of water poured from his three-cornered hat into the swirling depths of the rivers below and Thomas stood silent. Even as the rain pelted down on him, the thunder rumbled above him and the lightning flashed around him, he stood there alone with his thoughts. The rest of his men were in position, taking shelter from the storm in the trees, but he would wait out in the tempest; just as he would wait in the face of danger for the opportune moment to attack.

"A rider approaches!" Came a voice from one side of the bridge and Thomas slowly raised his head at the sound and looked towards the dark path where the rider would arrive.

"May God preserve you Miss Clarke….because we certainly won't."

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo  
A/N: Sorry to have stopped it there but if it had gone on any longer we'd be here forever! Nice cliff-hanger too :P Sorry, chapter's took longer than anticipated as lots of stuff has been happening lately and I was finding it difficult to concentrate. So I'll warn you and say don't expect the next (and maybe final chapter) for at least a week lol.  
Got my GCSE results on Thursday! Was so shocked as I thought I'd done terribly but I'd actually done really well:D And I have my college enrolement in two day's time - thinking of taking 5 subjects - what am I thinking! But my german teacher will be proud I might take German :P _

_Thanks for all your reviews and support! Hope you enjoyed and hope you all are well:D  
Rach xx_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Sorry for the delay but I think you're all going to like this chapter - well hopefully! Tiny tiny wincy bit of gore - but I mean only if you're squeamish to the extreme lol. But, you guessed it, most of this chapter is sheer DRAMA! Purely for the sake of amusing me :P And you too hopefully! Enjoy:D_

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

Rounding the corner of the darkened path, Beatrix noticed the opening in the trees and gave a tearful smile as she looked up to see the black clouds over head, rather than the haunting branches of the trees. The opening was a bridge and she could see the silver glint of water running haphazardly beneath it even from a distance.A flash of lightning illuminated the bridge just as she burst of out of the gloom of the trees. A lone figure appeared on the bridge in the unnatural daylight; the three-cornered hat and black cape a frightening reminder of those night-time tales told to small children, about men with guns and knives who lurked in the forests. Behind him on the other side of the bridge Beatrix could see similarly dressed figures with black handkerchiefs covering their faces and the menacing gleam of outstretched pistols.

Eyes wide with fear, cloak hood forgotten, Beatrix wheeled about on her saddle to see more phantom gunmen behind her amongst the trees. Her dark curls flew about in the rain as she jerked her head back round to face the figure on the bridge and yanked hard on the reins. The uneven surface of the stone had been made slippery from the rain and the horse skittered wildly across the wet cobbles towards the figure; its hind legs low to the ground as it attempted to slow from its full gallop.

Jerking on the reins again, Beatrix wheeled the horse around as it slid across the stone. It regained its footing and dithered nervously; facing across the bridge causing Beatrix to have to turn to her left to look at the outline of a man in the darkness. Breathing heavily she watched out of the corner of her eye at the figures in the woods to her right and those behind the original lone man on the bridge. They were slowly moving inwards, but the leader had yet to move.

"Miss Clarke, I presume." He called out over the rain, addressing her with a low bow and scheming grin.

"How do you know of me?" Beatrix called back, narrowing her eyes after her initial surprise.

The figure chuckled low to no-one in particular as more thunder rolled over head with a blaze of lightning, and raised his head into the silver luminance.

"Why, it is you who we are waiting for, my dear."

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

Tristan pelted along the trail; water dripping from the end of his nose, hair plastered soaked to his head, breath appearing in fierce plumes as he rode. He was not far now, soon there would be a bridge and then the road leading directly back to Westminster, he thought to himself, glancing to his right to see the river rushing alongside the road after a few rows of trees.

Stooping lower in his saddle, Tristan flicked on the reins to drive the horse faster still; its hooves barely even touching the dirt beneath as it flew along the ground. The trees flashed past him in the darkness and he tilted his head back to the right to see the bridge loom up further along the river; but the outline of figures and a horse and rider could be seen as more lightning blasted across the onyx sky.A frown gouged itself deep into the scout's brow as he kept his eyes on the bridge; flashes of trees interrupting his view as he galloped along the path. There was definitely something happening up there and he could pick out figures on both sides of the bridge from the darkness. A surge of fury ravaged his thoughts as he drew nearer, lightning flashing and thunder crashing, and saw the woman he loved sat astride the horse; soaked to the bone but as beautiful as ever – even in the face of danger.

Rounding a corner in the path away from the bridge, Tristan felt his hand reach instinctively for his pistol and click the safety latch. Blood would be spilled this night, that he knew, and he raised his head to the skies and let the water calm his boiling fury as the path curled back towards the river, and then onto a straight strip of path leading towards the bridge. Jaw clenched, Tristan watched clearly as Beatrix's horse reared, whinnying; its front legs pounding the air, before he growled loudly in his throat and reached for his gun.

Clutching desperately to the horse's mane, Beatrix gasped frantically as she felt herself slipping down the saddle. The horse's whinny of fear seemed to stretch on for an eternity, before hooves stomped back down onto solid stone and Beatrix let out a cry of pain as her knees jarred from the impact.

"Don't fight us Miss Clarke! Your injuries will only make this all the easier for us, and all the more painful for you!" Called Thomas out over the pounding rain.

Drawing in harsh breaths that burned her lungs, Beatrix could feel her horse edging backwards towards the balustrade edging one side of the bridge. She wearily fingered the reins and tried to stop its incessant dancing whilst the creature threw its head about in terror at the approaching figures.

"What do you want from me!" She shouted desperately, her composure finally starting to crack as she felt her patience and emotion give way.

The figures drew in closer from her right and she snarled fiercely at them with more conviction than she felt; thinking that all cornered animals give as much as they get in an act to escape.

"Why, we want you." Smirked Thomas, drawing his arms wide open as he walked nonchalantly towards her. "Having you within our possession could solve all of our problems, Miss Clarke."

Too many thoughts were racing through her head at that moment to comprehend that she was about to be kidnapped, but a sharp bang from her left demanded her attention.

Exploding out of the gloom in a fierce display of rage, Tristan powered through the men in front of him; sending them sprawling to the ground. The others on that side of the bridge began shooting at the horse and rider causing the horse to rear upwards. Its front legs pawed the air in angry protest as Tristan began firing his pistol at anyone he could aim at, before the horse came crashing back down to earth; its powerful hooves knocking one or two unlucky men to the ground and crushing their bones with its sheer strength.

Tristan's face was a picture of brutal determination and power even through the heavy rain. His teeth were bared like an animal and his eyes were as black as the skies above them as he wheeled around on his horse, reloading hastily and bringing the handle of his gun down to strike someone in the face with a sickening crunch. Turning just in time to dodge an oncoming bullet, he pulled the trigger on the pistol and snarled in satisfaction as it found its target; blood splattering outwards into the rain as it burst through his throat, skin and muscle tearing beneath the small lead ball's power.

Thomas growled loudly in frustration as he watched his men being gunned down by this lone gunman, and he span back round towards Beatrix with his cloak fluttering out behind him. She snapped her eyes back to the highwayman and held tighter to the reins at the look of sheer malice written across his face through the rain. He started to walk towards her again, slowly quickening his pace until his boots were splashing against the wet stone as he ran towards his awaiting victim. He even ignored her surprised gasp as the rest of Arthur and his men burst onto the bridge, and instead started to run faster towards her. He had come this far, his prize would not be taken from him now!

The ripple of tense muscles beneath her thighs alerted Beatrix to the fact that her horse was dancing backwards across the bridge again; back towards the balustrade. Tossing her head towards the right she watched as the figures began running towards her and the new enemies on the other side of the bridge. Knowing there was no escape that way, she turned her head back to look towards Tristan and the others. They were all deep in fierce battle with guns blasting in plumes of grey smoke, and none were able to help her. Her horse backed closer towards the low wall behind them as the highwaymen approached from all sides, and she could feel the tension building within its muscles beneath her as she watched helplessly.

Kicking out with her left foot she caught Thomas off-guard as he reached her, and he stumbled backwards with a pained groan in surprise before he launched himself forwards again and grabbed onto the bottom of her soaked dress.

"Get off of me!" Beatrix shrieked, kicking out viciously with her leg whilst still trying to keep her position on the horse.

"I'm not going anywhere, my lovely." Snarled Thomas, his revolting sneer leering up at Beatrix through the rain.

Struggling desperately against his strong hold on her, Beatrix began beating any part of him she could reach with her fists and scratching his face and hands. Thomas was far too determined to let go of her; even under such assault, and with a growl attempted to lift himself up using the stirrup to yank Beatrix from the saddle. The horse panicked beneath the new weight and with a fearful whinny it reared up upon its hind legs; tossing Thomas off sideways onto the ground and unseating Beatrix.

Hands scrabbling desperately for the reins, Beatrix screamed as she felt herself falling backwards; over the side of the balustrade and towards the gushing river below.

Everyone turned as they heard the ear-splitting scream just in time to watch Beatrix be tossed backwards over the side of the bridge.

"BEATRIX!" Roared Tristan, flinging himself from his horse without a second thought.

He hit the ground running, throwing punches left, right and centre as highwaymen ran towards him, but never breaking step. He barrelled into the wall just in time to see the eruption of water as Beatrix's body disappeared into its murky depths.

A deafening roar filled Beatrix's ears as she plunged into the water. The water quickly rushed back in to fill the void her entrance had created and she flailed uselessly in the rushing depths. Violet eyes wide as saucers, and mouth opening and closing in shocked panic, she found she could not draw breath. Any air that she had in her lungs had been sucked from her like a knife to the chest, and she could only feel the burning sensation of icy water as it poured down her throat. Arms thrashing urgently, Beatrix managed to roll herself over in the unyielding current, but her hair was smothered over her face so she never had the chance to even see the large boulder as she ploughed straight into it. A blinding pain ripped through her shoulder as it collided with the jagged edge of the large rock, and with a last muffled cry of agony, everything slowly went black.

Wrenching himself back to reality, Tristan turned on the spot, his dark eyes seeking out the man he had been watching at the inns and who was leading this attempted kidnapping. He found the highwayman picking himself up off the unforgiving stone of the bridge from whence the horse had thrown him. Trusting him not to move too far, Tristan ran back to his horse; nodding to Dagonet on the way who spurred his horse back down the forest path away from the bridge, and reached inside one of his packs hung from the saddle. His hands touched upon cold metal and he carefully removed the sword scabbard as gunfire added to the cacophony of noise and the rain created a river of blood across the bridge. Once he was satisfied after checking his sword, Tristan sheathed it in his belt and began striding back over the bridge. He did not bother to wipe the soaked hair from his eyes as Thomas brushed himself off and found Tristan stood not far from him; a challenge poised in the air.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

Dagonet galloped as fast as he could down the riverbank. His eyes scanned the gushing flow of water for any sign of Beatrix, but he had seen nothing since watching her fall from the bridge. He gritted his teeth as he goaded his horse faster still; the noise of the battle upon the bridge fading behind him to be replaced by the thundering of his hooves and the sounds of the storm and river beside him.

He cursed as another roll of thunder reverberated around him; the storm had been going on for hours and still showed little sign of abating which made his search so much more difficult. Squinting in the rain he could make out a large boulder up ahead, but not much else. Another blaze of lightning illuminated the whole forest and Dagonet clenched his jaw and slowed his horse as he looked upon the rock. There was a large patch of blood visible just above the surface of the water.

"May the gods look upon you kindly Beatrix." Whispered Dagonet aloud as he spurred his horse onwards again.

Now it was just a matter of following the dark trail of blood in the water.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo  
A/N: Mwaahahahaa! I am sorry for leaving you for so long - and for leaving this on such a cliffhanger! I didn't want to make the chapter too long though, as I doubted the action would be able to keep the momentum all the way through - sorry! -puppy dog eyes at angry readers- Was fun to write though -grins-  
__Any comments, questions? Likes, dislikes? I hoped to make it quite dramatic and for it to really go out with a bang, so any comments etc on how you think the grand finale is going so far would be great! Thanks for all your lovely reviews and support!  
Thanks for reading:D  
__Rach xxx_


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: May want to read back a little bit, but basically what's happening is Beatrix went to find Tristan and was ambushed by highwaymen and sent tumbling into the rushing depths of a river as it's in a middle of a storm at the moment. Tristan had gone to find Beatrix and now he is fighting the leader of the highwaymen with murder on his mind, whilst Dagonet goes to save Beatrix. The rest of the gang is there kicking ass too D Enjoy!_

* * *

The sounds of battle and storm merged into muted undertones of Tristan's consciousness as he drew his sword and held it out steadily, the point directed towards Thomas' heart. The experienced highwayman directed all his attention towards Tristan as he flung back one side of his cloak and withdrew his own sword. The pair stood for a while unmoving, the rain dancing from their bodies in a shimmering outline. The steely grey eyes narrowed under Thomas' hat as he glared over at the scout who glared back fiercely; his dark eyes glowing amber in the darkness.

Fist flying into a face, Arthur swung about on his horse and looked over at the pair stood on the bridge. Tension crackled through the air like the lightning overhead and Arthur shivered as he watched them. It was not the cold that made him shiver though, it was Tristan. He had always known the man to be brutal in his duty of protection, often favouring his sword over his pistol as it was more of a challenge and meant more pain for the victim, but never had he seen such a bloodlust in Tristan's eyes. He glanced around hastily to see his other men in the midst of battle and shook off the cold shiver working creeping its way slowly up his spine, and rejoined the fray.

Thomas sneered eerily in the darkness, lightning bursting across the sky and illuminating the devious look on his haggard face. He waited silently for the scout to make a move, an invitation of sorts, but eventually he tired of watching the threateningly still figure and outstretched his sword as he began walking closer. Metal met metal deafeningly in the midst of the battle, the noise so alien that those who had not realised there was a personal grudge being settled, soon did. Tristan scraped his sword menacingly down Thomas' as he drew back and so it began.

Light footwork that matched the speed of the lightning across the sky and heated attacks that rivalled the intensity of the storm, raged on; neither relenting, neither backing away in fear. Tristan deftly deflected a blow to his left, swinging his scimitar up to slash down Thomas' arm; feeling the familiar jarring of his blade connecting with flesh, and the resisting impact of muscle as the metal sliced through it. A dark patch began seeping through Thomas' shirt; blacker than the midnight sky that swirled above them. A stiff jerk of the blade had Thomas crying out in gurgling pain which swiftly turned to fury as he lashed out with his sword. The scout anticipated the move and skimmed past Thomas' face with his blood-drenched blade to stop the weapon embedding itself into his ribcage.

Slicing back round with his blade, he flipped the grip to use the sword to carve a deep wound into the side of the aging highwayman. Thomas cried out in the rain, dropping to his knees and sending his sword clattering to the ground as his head fell forward in agony. The rain was pouring down on him, his hat long since forgotten, leaving his tangled greying hair drenched and dripping with water hanging into his eyes as he clutched at his side. His sword was kicked back to him, much to Thomas' surprise and he glanced up to look at the looming shadow of Tristan. Reaching out a gnarled bloodied hand, Thomas' bony fingers curled over the hilt of his sword, using it to stick in the ground and gradually crawl up until he was standing awkwardly.

Thomas looked across the seemingly cavernous distance between himself and the scout. Placing a foot forward he slowly began to take deliberate, faltering footsteps towards Tristan, steadily becoming faster until he was moving at a lumbering run, desperation in his eyes. He knew that his cause was lost. He could hear his men dying around him, and even if they did manage to win by some small miracle it would take forever to find the girl, if she was even alive. But if he was going to lose, then by God he'd lose fighting.

Shouting into the open heavens. Thomas took an almighty swing with his sword, catching Tristan's own blade and yanking the scout forwards with their swords crossed.

"Shame about your wench, eh lad? Pity I didn't get chance to use her." Taunted Thomas raspily, his haggard face sneering vily in the rain.

Tristan growled deep in his throat and yanked the highwayman closer. "Just pray I finish you quickly, old man." He hissed slowly, his voice laced with venom.

Thomas laughed aloud then, throwing his head back to laugh up at the heavens as Tristan snarled and thrust his sword upwards into the man's ribcage. The laughter died on the man's thin lips, warm blood trickling out over them and down his chin as he stared blankly upwards into the rain. Yanking his sword downwards Thomas' head lolled forwards to blink at Tristan in lingering surprise.

"….Shame about your wench lad…"

The scout's face contorted in fury and his eyes seemed to blaze with ebony fire, as he let out a fierce roar and cleaved his scimitar completely free of the highwayman; carving an opening right through the side if his ribcage before bringing his sword up high above his head and slashing the barely standing highwayman across the chest. The lifeless body hit the wet cobbles with a sickening thud, a large river of blood already flowing away from it towards the balustrades of the bridge and through the small archways into the rush of water below.

Head bent, drenched braids stuck to his face, Tristan stood staring at the body. His whole body moved with the angry breaths he was taking, his fury still very much in focus. Spinning to look across the still raging brawl Tristan could not spot Daognet anywhere. Beatrix was not yet found. He felt helpless which just made him even more furious so he growled loudly in his throat and took off for the nearest man under Thomas' command and dealt him a brutal blow to the chest.

* * *

Dagonet powered his horse on faster through the driving rain, listening hard through the storm for any sound of Beatrix. The crease in his brow deepened as he flew through the darkness, he knew that that patch of blood meant Beatrix was injured and if he did not reach her soon she could drown. Eyes scanning the dark ribbon blood in the river he watched it growing gradually narrower and darker in the rushing water. He was close.

His horse struck solid rock as it charged onwards and the dim thundering of hooves became sharp in the storm; a rhythmic beat intertwining with the drumming of the rain. The water gurgled violently past jagged rocks, forcing fallen tree branches to slam into the unforgiving stone of the riverbed and erupting into splinters and snapped pieces of bark. Dagonet knew the current was impossibly strong if that was happening to thick branches and so he dreaded the thought of Beatrix being out there, especially in the deep middle of the river where he would not be able to reach her.

The rock started to ease into a downwards slope on the bank, but in the river it meant that the water coursed down in platforms of rocks; almost like that of a rapids. Dagonet's eyes widened as he took in the even greater power of the water here as it smashed into the rough boulders and stone, and out in the darkness he could make out a small white shape; Beatrix.

Stopping his horse sharply, he turned it towards the river and urged it forward out onto a line of rocks that jutted out into the flow of water a way down from where Beatrix was still up towards the top of the labyrinth of rocks. The stone was slippy from the rain and constant spray of water and Dagonet stroked his horse's mane soothingly as it edged out further onto the dangerous river. Dagonet looked back up to where Beatrix was and urged his horse on slightly faster until they reached the end of the rocks allowing Dagonet to slip out of the saddle. With one hand on the reins he estimated where Beatrix should pass the rock he was stood on, cursing as he realised she'd be too far out for him to grab. Holding a branch out to her would be pointless too as it looked as though she was face-down in the water, Dagonet realised with a gulp, meaning she was either unconscious… or dead.

He was running out of time on what to do as Beatrix dropped down another level with the water, being buffeted into the side of the boulders there before flowing onwards. Dagonet grimaced as he watched the impact and looked out again across the raging flow of water, the lightning illuminating a small platform a little way out further into the water. It had previously been concealed by the water hitting the sides of it and spraying upwards. When darkness descended again he kept his eyes trained on where he saw it last and threw a small pebble out towards it and watched it skim off the rock. It was his only chance of being able to reach Beatrix, so without a second thought he let go off the reins of his horse and steadied himself a small way back on the rock before launching himself out into the river.

Feet sliding on the wet rock, he twisted and crouched to grab the rough stone beneath his fingers. His foot dangled over the rock edge into the river precariously for a moment before he steadied himself with little time to even take a breath. Beatrix's seemingly lifeless body suddenly came tumbling down, crashing into rocks as it went, towards Dagonet. He narrowed his eyes, readying himself from his sturdy position on the rock as she came nearer, before reaching out and grabbing a clammy arm and yanking her towards him. It was hard to get a grip on her with the water washing over his hands and the constant tugging of the current meant she almost escaped his grasp more than once, but gradually he pulled her up from the water towards him. His whole body tensed as he gritted his teeth and growled in determination and exertion, eventually pulling her free of the water and up the steep rock face.

Shuffling back along the rock he made room for her impossibly cold body and cradled her against him for a moment. It was still raining and he shrugged out of his jacket as he held her, placing it gently around her shoulders and untucking her hair from the collar. He didn't want to brush back her hair from her face. He didn't want to see if she was dead or not, but he knew he had to. Taking a deep breath he collected himself and eased her back from his chest a small way. Gently pushing back her long drenched hair from her face he shook his head as her pale blue lips came into view and her closed eyes showed him no sign of life. There was blood spilling from a deep gash in her shoulder and Dagonet looked down to see it seeping into his shirt. He hung his head in grief as he wiped her hair away from her face and pressed a light kiss to her icy dampened forehead and hugged her body back against him, gently rocking her in the rain.

He stared out blankly into the river for a small while in shock, not daring to think what Tristan might do when he found out she was dead. Eventually he decided that he would have to go back, especially since this rain was beginning to seep into his bones and he wouldn't be much use to Beatrix if he died too. Gently, he raised himself to his feet with her bundled in his arms and made the leap back across the river safely and up onto his horse, speeding away from the river and back towards Arthur and the others.

The first time Tristan was aware of anything since Thomas' death was when he saw Dagonet reappear from the darkness riding for the bridge. Sheathing his sword after his latest kill, the scout ran towards the horse and rider in anticipation.

"You have her?" Tristan questioned impulsively, looking up at Dagonet still seated on the horse.

Dagonet stared back sadly his comrade, friend. Brother, and nodded. "I have."

He easily slid out of his saddle and tenderly lifted the sodden figure of Beatrix from the saddle after him and gathered her up in his arms, turning back to face Tristan.

"I...Tristan…" Words failed Dagonet as Tristan moved forwards to take Beatrix from him, so he simply held her body out to his friend knowing that no words would console him.

Tristan narrowed his eyes at Dagonet's expression, taking her body from Dagonet's arms and bringing her close to his chest. He hugged her to him, burying his face into her wet hair and expecting to feel some small ounce of warmth radiate from her. He felt none. Jerking his head up to look bewilderedly at Dagonet and noticing the blood staining his shirt, Tristan pushed her hair back from her face and simply stared wordlessly at her motionless expression. Dag moved forward to offer some gesture of condolence to Tristan but the scout brushed his hand away and stepped backwards simply hugging Beatrix to him again. The others soon joined Dagonet after the highwaymen had fled or been killed and each stood in shock as they watched the silent scout as silent as ever, holding Beatrix's limp body against him in the rain.

Galahad and Gawain rounded up the horses whilst Bors hefted a comforting arm around Dagonet's shoulders, telling him there was little more he could do. It was left to Arthur to approach the grieving scout as Lancelot and the others mounted their horses and waited in silence, head bows in the rain.

"Tristan, we best leave for the inn." Arthur called out quietly.

The scout raised his head and Arthur looked into the face of a broken man. Black pools of emptiness stared back at him from beneath sodden dark hair, and Tristan nodded slowly in a way that was far too old for him. Taking slow, deliberate strides he mounted his horse, settling Beatrix into his lap between the safety of his arms and the men rode back for the inn.

Everything happened in a blur after that for the scout. Suddenly they were not in the never-ending darkness of the storm, riding through the driving rain, but instead he found himself in the familiar orange glow of the inn he had been at just mere hours ago and yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. His attention was drawn somewhere to the left as suddenly Alice was there sobbing into Lancelot's chest and begging him to tell her it wasn't true. Tristan stared blankly at the sight for a moment before Arthur ushered him up the stairs and they followed a barmaid to Beatrix's room where candles and a fire were lit hastily. She was taken from him and laid out on the bed and then suddenly he was alone.

Tristan sat for a while by her bedside, simply watching her as though she slept. He could not remember her dress being changed to a dry rose pink, but her wet tangled hair assured him that he had not dreamt this whole evening. He only wished he had. He reached out a hand and traced a finger gently from her wrist upwards to her shoulder and then along her neck up to her face. He brushed the damp curls back from her face and grazed a rough finger over her lips. Ice greeted his touch and he almost recoiled in realisation but instead forced himself to feel what death felt like. Spending a while longer tracing every available inch of her skin, Tristan suffered her death a thousand more times with each stroke of her body until eventually he could take it no longer and sat back in the chair, not touching her.

There was a soft knocking at the door, but he did not bother to answer and after a small while Alice cautiously opened the door. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were still the tell-tale traces of tears across her cheeks as she peered around the door.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I've come to wash Beatrix." She whispered, her voice almost dying in a sob but regaining itself.

Tristan moved his head barely in a nod and Alice closed the door behind her as she moved towards the bed carrying a cloth, a comb and a bowl of water. She set them down on a small table on the opposite side of the bed from where Tristan was and gingerly dipped the cloth into the hot water, before squeezing off the excess and wiping the wet cloth over Beatrix's tranquil face with tender care. Again and again the process was repeated until all of Beatrix's upper body had been cleaned thoroughly. Tristan watched Alice work silently, his mind not yet having come to terms with everything that Beatrix's death meant.

"Is that lavender and rosemary?" He asked gruffly unexpectedly.

Alice raised her head in startled alarm and he signalled to the bowl of hot water and the small bundles of herbs it contained.

"Oh yes, to perfume the water and cleanse." She mumbled quietly, bowing her head once again as she moved to wash Beatrix's feet and legs.

Tristan fell back into silence and allowed his thoughts to claim him for a while. Since the first time Beatrix and Alice had eaten and danced with them, Tristan knew his heart belonged to her. There was just something about her stubborn, fragile nature that seeped under his skin and warmed his heart when he thought it was long since dead. But now it was her heart that was cold and still in her chest and her blood unmoving like ice. He sighed aloud, looking around the beautiful candlelit room before looking back down at his sodden clothes. He shrugged to himself and looked back up to Beatrix again, tilting his head slightly as something caught his eyes in the firelight.

Her bracelet. After everything, her bracelet was still there on her wrist. Dark eyes flickered over the silver carefully for a moment until he stood and crossed the distance to the bedside. Alice excused herself to get some perfume quietly and Tristan heard the door click behind him. He did not want to reach out and feel her deadly cold skin again, he could not bear to be reminded of losing her, but still he gingerly reached out and slipped the bracelet from her limp wrist. He gently placed her hand back and sat down in the chair, fingering the delicate silver bracelet carefully.

His eyes scanned the metal for the familiar tiny inscriptions he knew would be there, but there was a new one harshly cut into the silver and he studied it carefully.

"T.T…" He whispered aloud to himself.

It was his own name; Tristan Thoreaux. His brow puckered in thought as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the inscription, but try as he might he could not think of any. Unless it was the death of her love for him. He shut out that thought and swallowed hard, looking up to her calm face for some type of confirmation. Had she died no longer loving him? He could feel the hot sting of tears behind his eyes as he stared pleadingly at her but he simply shook his head and drew a small dagger from his pocket.

Alice reappeared a small while later with a small bottle of perfumed oil and began massaging it into Beatrix's skin with practised ease, glancing up to watch Tristan every now and then.

"Who are you inscribing on the bracelet?" She asked softly, her voice floating out from behind her veil of golden hair.

Tristan did not answer but continued what he was doing for a small while, brushing off the bracelet and repocketing his dagger and holding the bracelet up to the candlelight to appraise his work. Once he was satisfied he walked to the side of the bed and held out the bracelet to show Alice the small inscriptions of 'B.C' and something in a language she did not recognise encircling the whole inside of the bracelet.

Tristan's face was blank, not stoic and guarded as usual, as he watched her, mistaking her flicker of a frown as simply not understanding the Sarmatian he had written. He made a small motion with the bracelet for her to take it to put back on Beatrix, but instead Alice took his hand quickly and pressed it against Beatrix's wrist.

His dark eyes looked to Alice in confusion searching her face, but she merely pressed his hand tighter against the skin.

Barely there, like a faraway flame in the darkness, deep in Beatrix's wrist Tristan could feel a faint, slow beating. Surprised eyes flickered up to meet teary blue ones and Alice put a hand to her chest.

"She lives yet."

* * *

_A/N: Well it's certainly been a while - my deepest apologies. Same old excuses; college etc yada yada, yeah I'm sorry. I thought this would be the final chapter, but no, I have to add some more drama so there is still a chapter yet to come (god know's when that'll just written and posted P). Anyway, thank you all so much for your comments and if any of my old readers are still reading - thank you so much guys! You're the reason why I wanted to finish this story and have carried on piece by piece. If anyone reviews on this chapter - tell me what you think! I was writing it whilst being home from college with a migraine so it may be a bit bleurgh but nevermind lol. _

_Thanks again everyone! Hope you liked )  
Rach xx_


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